


In A Family Way

by EliseDorian (mariyam), lorenes



Series: Arno x Élise Forever [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin's Creed: Unity, Assassins vs. Templars, Baby Fluff, Childbirth, Childhood Trauma, Discussion of Abortion, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fights, Goat Farm, Healing, Healing Sex, Injury, Injury Recovery, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Major Character Injury, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Postpartum Depression, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Twins, Violence, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, pregnancy fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 284,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariyam/pseuds/EliseDorian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorenes/pseuds/lorenes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Arno and Élise live happily ever after on a farm in the South of France, raising their children and their goats, hoping to leave their past behind. But the past never forgets, and is never far.</p><p>Contains Assassin's Creed: Unity game and book spoilers. And many, many of our headcanons.</p><p>Chapters containing explicit sexual content are marked with (E).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. United

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to all the artists who contributed to this work with their talent! You are amazing! ❤
> 
> Now accepting prompts!
> 
> You’re reading the story In A Family Way, and you have ideas for tiny ‘daily life’ ficlets? Feel free to submit them via the Ask box or the Submission form: arnoandelisehaveafarm.tumblr.com
> 
> I can’t promise to use them all, as they do have to fit within the overarching story, but if I do use your idea, you’ll get full credit for your contribution!

****

**July 28, 1794**

The day had finally come.

Every assassination, every sneak in and eavesdrop had built up to this very moment.

Arno climbed the highest tower of the temple swiftly, a trail of bodies behind his back. All his doing. Nearly nothing in comparison to the path he built to get where he was tonight. Much like a thief in the night, he had sneaked through the shadows until all the unlucky guards inside the temple had met their fate.

His palms were sweaty from the excitement, and the inside of his gloves was sticky and slippery, but he managed to keep his balance and momentum. His heart rate went up when he finally managed to reach the top, and saw a familiar silhouette ahead.

Germain stood alone on the top of the temple, a sword by his hand. Arno looked at him straight in the eyes, and walked towards him. Germain looked a bit too confident, however. _As if he had a card under his sleeve…_

He did. Germain pointed the sword in Arno’s direction and a beam of light came from it and almost reached the former assassin, who managed to roll to the side just in time and take cover behind a wall.

_What the hell was that?!_

“So the prodigal Assassin returns...” Germain stated. Arno recovered from the initial shock. “I suspected as much when La Touche stopped sending his tax revenue.”

Arno used his Eagle Vision to watch his enemy through the walls, and sneaked his way to his back. He reached for Germain’s throat, but before he could even touch the man’s gut with the blade and end his duty with de la Serre, a loud explosion took place and Arno was thrown away.

When the blinding light finally dissipated, he saw Germain walk away and suddenly disappear, as if he had been magically teleported.

“ _How….WHAT??!”_

The former assassin panicked for a minute. Where the hell did he go? He could be anywhere in Paris, maybe even the world in that moment.

Then it occurred to him that the Temple’s vault was one of the likely options.

It was worth a shot.

Arno ran downstairs as fast as he could, not caring if he was running too fast even for his well-trained physique. After entering the catacombs, it didn’t take him too long to find the door to the vault.

As he looked at the door, hurried footsteps came from the other side of the corridor.

Élise.

“What happened here?”

“Germain’s got some kind of…weapon. I’ve never seen its like before.” He hesitated briefly, his pride pinching him. “He got away from me.”

“He didn’t come past me. He must still be down there,” she replied, motioning towards the vault door.

Arno activated the classic Templar insignia in the door, and the door started opening. A little too slowly, in Élise’s opinion.

She drew her sword and began running in the direction of a fatal end.

_“Élise…!”_ Arno warned in a whisper, but it was too late. Germain noticed them, and used the sword on Élise, who, for Arno’s relief, managed to dodge the attack just in time. She found a cover, and Arno hid in the spot opposite from hers.

“And Mademoiselle de la Serre as well. This is quite the reunion.”

“Stay hidden!” Arno said as quietly as he could considering the distance between him and his lover. “Keep him talking.”

As Élise began distracting Germain, Arno studied his surroundings. Risking moving while his opponent was unaware, he found a passageway that lead into the ruins of what was probably once a Templar headquarter. Moving furtively through the old corridors and upstairs, soon enough he found himself above Germain, ready to pounce.

And he did.

But another explosion of light ensued and Arno was blown away again. For the second time, his rival escaped his grip. Before Germain reappeared, Arno took cover again.

“You can’t hide from me, _boy._ ” Arno felt Germain using eagle vision. _But how could it be..?_

Then he heard the sound of lightning bolts hitting the rock in front of him, and he instinctively threw a smoke bomb in Germain’s direction. Using this to his own advantage, he turned around and charged towards his enemy, but his blade barely kissed Germain’s neck.

Getting up from the electric discharge and finding his enemy gone again, Arno hid. Turning his back towards the area Germain stayed on, he spotted Élise on the corner of his eye, hidden behind a tomb.

“ _I can’t seem to find an opening_ ,” she whispered.

“ _We have to take him together_.”

So that was how it was going to be. _United_ , or not at all. She nodded.

Arno watched out for where Germain’s attention was set, and moved stealthily towards the other end of the chamber. His heart rate was up in heaven. He could not afford the slightest of miscalculations. Not now. If he did, he’d never get a chance again. And Élise... she would never forgive him.

Upon reaching his destination, Arno’s chest hurt and his legs were about to give out. He breathed out the air he didn't know he was holding and used his Eagle Vision. Germain faced Arno's direction, and Élise nodded.

It was now or never.

He took another smoke bomb and threw it on Germain’s feet. Then, he charged towards his enemy.

Arno nearly missed again, but milliseconds before Germain could run from his death, another blade crossed his chest and he fell to the ground with a loud thump. Élise removed her sword, while Germain still grasped for life on the floor. Arno looked at Élise.

“All yours.” She stepped away and stood still, awaiting for him to strike the killing blow. And he did.

His vision went white as Germain shared his last minutes with him. He saw a memory of the very man laid on the floor of the temple, but decades younger. He sat on a desk, examining a Templar pin when suddenly his head began to hurt and visions started floating around him. Suddenly, he could see the mysteries of years long past and years to come.

“Bravo. You’ve slain the villain!” Arno turned around to meet Germain once again. “That is how you’ve cast this little morality play in your mind, isn’t it? I’m not really here.” He pointed towards the young version of him, the one admiring the symbols. “I’m not really there either. At the moment I’m bleeding out on the floor of the Temple, but it seems the Father of Understanding has seen fit to give us this time to talk.”

The memory changed. Now it still showed a slightly older Germain kneeling on the floor, taking Jacques de Molay’s writings from their hideout.

“Ah, a particular favorite of mine. I did not understand the visions that haunted my mind, you see. Great towers of gold, cities shining as silver. I thought I was going mad. Then I found this place--Jacques de Molay's vault. Through his writings, I understood.”

“Understood what?” Arno asked in an arrogant tone.

“That somehow, through the centuries, I was connected to Grand Master De Molay. That I had been chosen to purge the Order of the decadence and corruption that had set in like rot. And to wash the world clean, and restore to the truth the Father of Understanding intended.”

The memory changed. Now, it showed Monsieur de la Serre banishing him from the Templar order.

“That seems to have gone over well.” Arno commented.

“Prophets are seldom appreciated in their own time. Exile and abasement forced me to reevaluate my strategy. Find new avenues for the realization of my purpose.”

Now, they saw people bowing down for Germain, adoring him.

“No matter the cost?”

“New order never comes without destruction of the old. And if men are made to fear untrammeled liberty, so much the better. A brief taste of chaos will remind them why they crave obedience.”

The memory shown switched to the most recent one: Élise fighting Germain, avenging her father.

“It appears we part ways here. Think on this: the march of progress is slow, but it is inevitable as a glacier. All you have accomplished is to delay the inevitable. One death cannot stop the tide. Perhaps it will not be my hand that shepherds mankind back into its proper place--but it will be someone's. Think on this when you remember this day.”

Arno’s vision went white again and he found himself back in the Temple, kneeling beside Germain’s dead body. He got up and withdrew his hidden blade.

“So what was that about?” Élise asked, still standing in the same spot. Arno sighed, feeling the weight of the world leave his shoulders at last.

“Let’s go to the Café, I’ll explain everything there.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Arno looked at his father’s pocket watch to find it was fifteen past three. The musical performance in the Café had just finished, and it was still overrun with people. As the legal owner, he had the privilege of a comfortable seat by the window, having the garden as a delightful view. His muscles hurt from the fight earlier, but the fluffiness of the chair almost made it forgettable. He took a sip of his beloved Bordeaux, while Élise had her arms crossed on the other side of the table and frowned at him.

“So, you’re telling me all was in vain?” she asked carefully. “Someone else will just come and redo all the harm? I cannot believe this.”

“It’s not up to us, you know,” he replied, looking into her eyes. “It’s not our duty to end whatever it is that’s happening. We just did it--”

“Yes,” she said grumpily. “It was my duty. You wanted to help.”

“I don’t mean that I regret it, Élise. I don’t think we should become vigilantes. It’s done. I am no longer an Assassin, and I don’t think the Templars would welcome you with a warm smile if you were to establish yourself as their Grand Master. So we don’t have an alternative.”

They paused for a brief moment. Élise took the wine bottle and drank what was left of it.

“You’re right. But still, you’ve got something both the Order and the Brotherhood want.”

Arno sighed when he remembered the artifact. “You wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“Oh, by all means.” She smiled faintly. “You’ve said it: they don’t want me around anymore. Bribing will not change anything. Besides, it does nothing in regards to my father’s legacy, so take it to your Brotherhood.”

Arno laughed. “Okay, I’ll go there first thing in the morning, if they don’t come after me first. For now, let us celebrate.”

* * *

**July 29, 1794**

Arno walked slowly towards the entrance to the Assassin’s hideout. Élise had stayed at home to write a letter to her Templar contacts in England, so it was just him.

“Arno Victor Dorian.” An apprentice watching over the gates called. “The Templar loving traitor returns. How unlikely.”

“I have something your Mentor may desire.”

“Interesting. What is it?”

“Just give it to him.” He held out the artifact and the novice carelessly took it with only one hand as if it was a normal sword. “Be careful with it, it’s dangerous.”

“What’s the cost for this, traitor?”

“Just leave me and Élise alone, once and for all.”

“So it is true what we hear? About you and the Templar?”

“That is none of your business.” Arno turned around and started walking away from the Order that once took pride in his father.

“Wait! Answer me just this question!” Arno stopped and turned to face the boy again. “Why not the Templars? Why are you giving it to us?”

He smiled. “I felt like I owed the Brotherhood one last favor, after all the wrong I’ve done.” He resumed walking. “Besides, this place was closer.”

* * *

Upon reaching the Café again, Arno went straight to his room to recover from the tiring night and the headache after three bottles of wine and a walk in the sun. As soon as he enters the room, he realizes Élise is missing from the desk.

“So.” He turns around to find her leaning on the doorway, the sun shining on her back. He covers his eyes for protection as his head begins pounding. “How was it there?”

“The way you’d imagine: I was called a traitor and didn’t stay for long. _Fin_.”

“Really? That’s all? I figured maybe they’d make you stay. Or have you lecture them on the artifact.”

“We’re not really the blood crazed idiots your former Order makes we sound like. I’m sure the new Mentor will figure out what it’s about, whoever he is.” He jumped on the bed. Élise laughed.

“’ _We’_? So you’re back on the tracks? _”_

“Élise, please. This was a busy night.”

“Oh I know, Assassin,” she yawned. “But what if they storm the place demanding answers?”

Arno looked up to see her standing on the other end of the bed, knee on the bed, almost ready to join him. So she wouldn’t give up before her answer. Typical.

He sighed. “They will not, Élise. They’re too proud to do that. Now, can you just come over here so we can finally rest?”

She grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”


	2. And Baby Makes Three

** **

[ArnoXElise](http://xxdrawingfanxx.deviantart.com/art/ArnoXElise-546160476)  by [xXDrawingFanXx](http://xxdrawingfanxx.deviantart.com/)

**August 29, 1794**

The last few days had been exceptionally warm for end of August. Despite the late hour in the morning, Élise is still lying in bed. Sweat pearling on her forehead, her chemise feels clammy against her skin. Maybe it’s the heat that makes her feel so sluggish lately? She knows she should be up, washed, dressed and ready for the day by now, but she just can’t muster the energy. And there’s this queasiness in her stomach that just doesn’t want to go away. She has barely eaten anything the past 3 days. Madeleine is a wonderful cook -- she made sure both Arno and her have been well-fed since they took shelter at the Café, and Élise wonders if that’s the reason her breeches don’t quite fit as of late, she’s been forced to wear dresses! -- but the only food that seems to go down without a fuss is dry bread and water. _What is wrong with me?_ , she asks herself. She closes her eyes and turns on her back, arms and legs sprawled, in search of cooling. Besides her, the bed is empty, the sheets feel cool under her hand. Arno must have gotten up quite early this morning, so silently she didn’t even wake up. Or is it afternoon already? Lost in her thoughts, she almost drifts back asleep until she hears quiet footsteps approaching. She opens her eyes to see Arno standing next to the bed, looking at her tenderly. Strands of dark hair are plastered on his forehead, his shirt is unbuttoned and he rolled up his sleeves. He sits on the edge of the bed, bringing his hand to her cheek to caress it softly. “Hey, you’re still in bed?” She nods, stretching her arms. He brushes her hair away from her forehead. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe ask Madeleine to bring me some bread and water?”, she says in a low voice, barely audible.

He shakes his head. “Élise, you need to eat more than just bread and water. That’s all you’ve been eating lately. Don’t you want some soup instead?”

She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to repress a gag. “No, please, not soup. Just bread and water is fine.”

He frowns. “I’m worried about you.”

She manages a faint smile. “It’s the heat, I’m sure. This room is a real oven.”

He rises to his feet, extending a hand. “Then let me help you get washed up and dressed, and let’s go sit in the garden while it’s still in the shade. I bet you’ll feel better once you get some fresh air!”

She chuckles. “You’re right. I should get up…” Taking his extended hand in hers, she sits up and then gets out of bed and onto her feet, only to feel her legs failing out from under her. She brings a hand to her forehead. “I feel so dizzy all of a sudden…” she slurs.

“Woah… Élise!” He swiftly slips his arms under her armpits to hold her upright. She feels limp in his arms. With precaution, he lays her back on the bed, lifting up her legs. He sits next to her and gently taps on her too pale cheeks. “Élise, Élise, wake up! Look at me, please! Élise!” he cries, his voice cracking. He feels his chest tightening. _What is wrong with her?_ , he wonders _._ She’s not herself the past few days. She doesn’t eat, she barely gets out of bed, she won’t let him touch her… _And that’s really not like her_ , he admits to himself.

After a moment, she opens her eyes. She looks around, confused. “What just happened?”

Breathing a loud sigh of relief, he leans to kiss her lips softly. They feel cold. He looks at her with the widest of grins, putting on his best efforts to mask his worry. “You fainted, my love. You probably got up too fast, and you haven’t eaten enough…” She nods silently, closing her eyes. He gets up to fetch a washcloth, dipping it in the cool water of the washing basin next to the bed, and laying it gently on her forehead. “Élise, I’m going to send Madeleine to bring you something to eat. Are you going to be all right? Or do you want me to stay here with you?”

“I’ll be fine. I… I just need to rest.” she murmurs.

He strokes her cheek gently. “I’ll be back later to check on you, I promise.”

“I know you will,” she says, smiling softly.

He takes her hand and gently kisses it before leaving the room as quietly as he entered it.

* * *

Their room might be an oven, but the kitchen is much worse. He finds Madeleine, a stout middle-aged woman, at the working table kneading bread, the scarf covering her long brown hair damp with sweat. He taps on her shoulder, making her jolt and bring a flour-covered hand to her large bosomed chest.

“You scared me there, Monsieur Arno!” she exclaims, a broad grin illuminating her round face, reddened by the kitchen heat. “What can I do for you? Is Mademoiselle Élise feeling any better this morning? Oh, I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business to ask such things.”

He smiles warmly. Madeleine is the best employees he has, always available, keeping their apartments clean and tidy, feeding them the most delicious food he’s had in a long time. He even got used to her constant chatter. She helped fill the silence that was surrounding him before Élise moved in to live with him at the Café.

“About Élise --” he begins.

She interrupts him, carrying on cheerfully with her kneading. “Oh there is something off about her lately. I can tell, I’ve got that kind of feeling, me. I don’t know her as much as I know you Monsieur, but she’s not herself, isn’t she? The poor Mademoiselle, all that nasty business that you two have gotten yourselves into, it wore her down. Us women are more fragile that you think, Monsieur.”

He rolls his eyes, his impatience growing. “Yes, possibly. But I would really appreciate if you could bring her a bit of bread and some fresh water, she had a…” He hesitates. “She had… an episode this morning. Most likely just a reaction to the heat.”

She raises an eyebrow. “An episode, you say, Monsieur?”

“She probably got up too fast, and she hasn’t been eating much… She said she felt dizzy… Anyway, I tucked her back in bed. I’ll check up on her later.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, his eyes imploring. “Would you be so kind as to go see her immediately?”

She nods. “Of course Monsieur Arno, right away.” She brushes her hands on her apron. “Faustine, take over the bread, will you?” she shouts at her assistant.

* * *

Élise heard a voice calling out, like in a dream. “Mademoiselle Élise? Mademoiselle Élise? Are you sleeping? I brought you some bread and water, just like Monsieur Arno asked.”

“Madeleine?” she mutters, opening her eyes. She must have fallen asleep right after Arno left. Madeleine puts the tray of food and water on the bedside table. “What time is it?” Élise asks, covering her eyes with her hand as Madeleine opens the shades, bathing the room in sunlight.

“It’s almost noon, Mademoiselle.”

“Right. It’s time I get up. Would you help me get dressed once I have finished eating?”

“Of course Mademoiselle. I’ll be right around the corner, just give me a shout when you need me!” She bows and shuffles out of the room.

Élise sits up in bed, propping herself up on the pillows. Her head wasn’t spinning, that was a good sign. She could smell the fresh loaf of bread next to her, but it wasn’t making her queasy. She breaks a piece of bread and brings it to her mouth, chewing on it carefully, looking out for any signs of nausea. Nothing. She swallows a bite, then another. She takes a few sips of water. Still nothing. _Maybe I can actually do this_ , she thinks, smiling. She doesn’t really feel hungry, and she puts the bread back in the basket. Maybe she can eat some more later. “Madeleine? Are you there?” she calls.

The maid appears at the door. “You called me, Mademoiselle?” She looks at the bread in the basket, missing just a few bites. “Mademoiselle Élise, you didn’t eat much, did you? You need to eat more. I know it’s not my business to tell you what to do, but if I were your mother, I would make sure that you eat.”

Her mother. Élise hadn’t thought about her mother in a long, long time. And suddenly, she feels an immense wave of sadness submerging her, making her explode into tears, her whole body convulsing.

Madeleine rushes to Élise’s side and takes her into her arms. “Shhhh, my child,” she says in a soothing voice, smoothing Élise’s hair, desperately trying to calm down her uncontrollable sobbing. She holds her in her arms for several minutes until Élise’s sobbing quiets down.

Élise looks up, her eyes swollen and red, her cheeks flushed and covered in tears. She pulls away, visibly embarrassed, drying her cheeks with the palm of her hands. “Please forgive me, Madeleine, I… I don’t know what came over me.”

Madeleine fixes her gaze on the young woman in front of her. She takes her hand in hers, smiling kindly. “It’s all right, Mademoiselle. Don’t you worry about it. Now let’s get you dressed.”

The maid gathers freshly laundered clothes for Élise. She helps her out of her damp chemise and into the new one. “That should already feel better, doesn’t it?” she says encouragingly.

Élise nods. She agrees a fresh and dry chemise feels much better on her skin, but the smell of the lavender oil used for the laundry is hitting her nostrils in the most unpleasant way.

And then it hits her.

She barely has time to reach the chamber pot, where she vomits the few bites of bread and sips of water she had managed to keep down so far. Holding Élise’s hair out of the way, Madeleine rubs her back in silence, shaking her head.

After a moment, once the wave of nausea has passed, Élise takes a few deep breaths and walks back to the bed, sitting on the edge. Madeleine is silent, her brow furrowed. She grabs the corset and helps Élise put it on. When she begins tightening it, Élise yelps, clutching her breasts. “Auw! That’s a bit too tight, Madeleine! It… hurts.”

Madeleine looks at her suspiciously. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle. How about we leave it out today? Let me just help you put on your dress.”

The light blue linen dress smells like lavender too, and Élise feels another wave of queasiness rising in her stomach. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, the displeasing feeling slowly subsiding. She opens her eyes to find Arno standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, looking serious. “That will be all, Madeleine, thank you,” he says calmly, walking towards the bed.

Madeleine gently rubs Élise’s shoulder. “As you wish, Monsieur.” She makes her way towards the door, but Arno stops her.

“Madeleine, can I have a word with you?” He takes her arm, leading her out of the room. Once he is sure Élise won’t be able to hear their conversation, he turns to Madeleine, his face distorted by the worry in his heart. “Madeleine, I beg of you. Do you have any idea what could possibly be wrong with Élise?”

She looks down, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not my place to tell you such things, Monsieur Arno.”

“Madeleine, if you know something, please tell me. Should I call a doctor? Is she ill?”

She looks at him sympathetically. “No, Monsieur Arno. No such thing. She is not ill. Mademoiselle Élise...” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Mademoiselle Élise is with child, Monsieur Arno. You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

He gave her a bewildered look. “With… child? P… pregnant?” he stutters. Was it really happening? Was it a dream? Could she really be carrying his child? He bites on his fist to keep from screaming in joy. Or burst out in tears. One of the two. He’s not entirely sure what exactly is going through his own mind at the moment. Happiness? Fear?

She chuckles, amused by his reaction. “If you don’t believe me, I can call the doctor for you. But in my mind, there is no doubt. Mademoiselle is with child. I felt exactly the same when I was carrying my daughter. I was sick all the time, Monsieur Arno. All the time! And my neighbor, she --”

“Would you call the doctor for me, please?” he interrupts. “I… I just need to be sure.”

She nods. “As you wish, Monsieur Arno. I will have the doctor come over by the end of the afternoon.” She points at the bedroom. “You should go see her. Mademoiselle Élise needs you, more than ever.”

He smiles softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Madeleine. You are right, I should go see her.”

He turns around and walks back to the bedroom.

“Monsieur Arno?” Madeleine calls loudly from behind him. “You will make a fine father, Monsieur Arno. A fine father. Congratulations!”

Hearing her words, a wide grin forms on his face.

* * *

“What was all the fuss about, Arno? What did you two talk about?” Élise is sitting at the desk by the open window, an open book in her hands, desperately trying to catch a cool breeze, her light blue dress making her emerald eyes shine, despite the fatigue and the weariness. She brushed her hair and pinned them up, a few loose curls framing her face.

She was beautiful, as always. But he was now seeing her as someone else -- the mother of his child. He looks at her fondly. “Nothing my love, I just needed to discuss some matters of the Café with her. And I asked her to call the doctor for you.”

She turns towards him. “You did _what_?” she asks angrily.

His smile vanishes upon hearing her harsh tone of voice. He kneels next to the chair, cupping her face in his hands. “But I’m worried about you.”

She pushes his hands away. “NO! I don’t want to see the doctor! Leave me alone!” she shouts, her lower lip quivering.

He sighs, reluctantly getting up to his feet. He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it away. Her behavior is puzzling him. She has always been quite a handful, but this was something else. “Élise, listen… listen to me. Just let the doctor ask you a few questions and examine you, it’ll be over before you know it. And we’ll know what’s going on. Élise, please… Do it for me.” he pleads.

“Sure,” she mutters. She props her chin on her hand to stare out the window, her face inexpressive.

His heart sinks. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back later, when the doctor comes by. I love you.”

She shrugs, her look vacant.

_This is going to be nine very long months_ , he thinks while walking out of the room.

* * *

Loud footsteps can be heard down the corridor. Élise rubs her cheeks with her hands to get some color on them, and forces a smile as Madeleine, followed by the doctor and Arno, enter the room.

Madeleine discretely points towards Élise. “Here is your patient, doctor. Mademoiselle de la Serre hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

The doctor nods. “Thank you. Now please leave me alone with Mademoiselle.”

Arno wanted to stay, but there was no argument possible with the doctor’s firm tone. “Yes, of course doctor.” He meets Élise’s gaze for a few seconds, looking contrite, before turning around and following Madeleine outside of the room. As they walk away, he taps on Madeleine’s shoulder, gesturing her to keep silent and to continue walking. Not wanting to miss anything of the conversation, he flattens against the wall right away from the door, careful not to make a sound.

Meanwhile, the doctor is ready to begin examining his patient. “Mademoiselle, would you please lie down. Do you need any help?”

“I’ll be fine thank you,” she says dryly. She carefully gets up to her feet, walks back to the bed and sits down.

“Please Mademoiselle, lie down.” She obeys reluctantly, laying her hands on her stomach, her fingers intertwined. “Now, let me ask you a few questions”, the doctor continues.

“Of course, doctor,” she says in a faint voice.

“Can you describe your current ailments?” the doctor asks, nonchalantly cleaning his spectacles with a handkerchief.

She stares at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts. “For the last 3 or 4 days, I haven’t been able to eat much, feeling queasy most of the time. I’m also very tired. This morning, when trying to get out of bed, I seemed to have… swooned.”

The doctor nods, putting on his spectacles and neatly folding back his handkerchief. “Good, good. Please continue. Anything else? Such as pain, or discomfort…?”

“Well, this is quite embarrassing to be talking about this with a… man, but… my…” She hesitates, blushing. “My... breasts are quite... tender as of late.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Would you say, Mademoiselle de la Serre, that this queasiness that you report, manifests itself mostly upon waking up?”

She looks at the doctor, confused. “Yes, now that you mention it, yes, I would say so.”

“May I ask you, Mademoiselle, when was your last bleeding?”

She frowns. Looking at the calendar has been the least of her worry the past few months, or even years.  “Er… this is a very good question. I… I can’t remember exactly, but it has to be somewhere around mid-July.”

Outside the room, Arno grimaces. That’s more information than he really wished to hear. _I better get used to it_ , he thinks to himself, keeping his ears peeled for the rest of the conversation.

The doctor continues. “And, if I may ask, would you say that you are… regular? If so, would you say you should have expected your bleeding almost… 3 weeks ago?”

Élise’s heart skips a beat. _No, it’s impossible. It can’t be... I can’t be…_ Of course, it was possible that she was pregnant. After all, she’s been sharing Arno’s bed since she moved in at the Café. She smiles faintly, feeling a tingle in her core at the thought of their wild nights. And mornings. And… Her reverie is interrupted by the discrete coughing of the doctor, who was awaiting her answer. “Y... Yes, I am. And… Yes… I suppose so.”  Her hands fly to cover her mouth, tears pricking her eyes, reality sinking in.

“Mademoiselle, I don’t think I need to examine you any further,” the doctor declares with a warm smile. “You are not ill. It’s quite clear to me that you are expecting a child.”

_You are expecting a child._ The words echo in her head, dizzying her. She feels her chest tightening, her breathing becoming shallow, her hands going numb. She closes her eyes, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t ready to raise a child. Not now. She has so much to do to pursue her father’s legacy.

_You are expecting a child._ The same words are filling Arno’s heart with joy, his eyes welling with tears. All his life, he’s been accepted, then rejected, wherever he went. But his dream is finally coming true: his own family, with the woman he loves more than everything.

The doctor places a reassuring hand on Élise’s shoulder. “I understand this might be quite a shock. Let me call in your… fiancé, I presume?”

She tries to say something, but there is no sound. _No, he is not my fiancé_ , she wanted to say. Before the doctor even said a word, Arno appears in the doorway, trying to keep a straight face but struggling to hide his elation.

The doctor steps away from the bed, extending a hand towards Arno to shake it. “Ah, Monsieur Dorian, I was just about to fetch you. It seems congratulations are in order. Mademoiselle is not ill, she is simply... expecting. If my calculations are correct, and if God is on your side, she should give birth around mid-April of next year.”

Élise shakes her head, the initial shock of the announcement of her pregnancy making place for bitterness and resentment. “You’ve been eavesdropping, haven’t you?” she snaps, looking at Arno straight in the eyes. “You’ll never change. Not ever. You’ll _always_ be an Assassin…”

_Here we go again._ He looks down, heavyhearted. “Élise, I’m sorry, I...”

“Oh save it," she hisses.

The doctor pauses, looking at one then the other, confounded about the scene that was playing before him. “I think I will leave you two to… discuss the matter. Goodbye Monsieur Dorian, goodbye Mademoiselle de la Serre. I know the way out.”

Arno shakes the doctor’s hand once more. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you.” After the doctor has left, he turns towards Élise with a sheepish smile, only to receive pillow square in the face. “And what did I do to deserve this?” he asks, vexed, clutching his nose.

“I don’t know… maybe not pulling out on time, as you always do?” she retorts, her eyes squinted in anger.

He takes a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his face turned towards her. “It’s the first time I hear you complain about it. I thought you wanted a baby as much as I did. Otherwise, you would have stopped me. You know the risks.” His voice is calm, even, but inside, his heart is breaking.

Her mouth opens in disbelief. “You were doing it ON PURPOSE? And HOW DARE YOU make this sound like it’s MY FAULT!” She firmly crosses her arms over her chest, fuming.

He takes his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. “NO! No, it’s not what I’m saying…” He pauses. “I’ve been… careless, I know. More than once. Most of the time. Okay, all the time.”

“And look where it got us. I’m pregnant now, thank you very much.” She looks away, avoiding his gaze.

He takes her hand in his, but she pulls her hand away. “I don’t want to fight, not today. Not ever. I love you. With all my heart. Look at me, please.” he implores.

She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but he was right. It was as much her fault as it was his. She knew the risks, he knew them too. This baby, the symbol of their love, should bring them closer together, not tear them apart. She feels her chest tightening again, and tears stream down her cheeks. “Arno, we talked about this before… We can’t… I can’t…” she says between sobs.

He carefully moves closer to her, expecting to be pushed away. To his surprise, she throws herself in his arms, burying her head in his chest. He holds her tightly against him while her sobbing quiets down, placing soft kisses on the top of her head. After a moment, he breaks the silence. “We need to flee Paris.”

“What?” she asks, baffled.

“We’ve been hiding here for a month now. Where are your allies? You wrote to several of them, but did they even return your letters? You have to face the truth, Élise. If word gets out that you’re here, that we are here, and that you’re pregnant…” He tightens his embrace. “I don’t want to think about what could happen to you. We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”

She pulls her head back to look at him, a perplexed look on her face. He had a point. She hadn’t heard from anyone to whom she reached out to, in the hope of gathering support from within the Order. Memories of the trap she almost fell into several years ago resurface. Again, she is trapped, but for a different reason. “What do you suggest?”

“Let’s just go, far away. What about the Alps? In your letters, you talked about a farm, with goats…”

She bursts out in laughter. “You’ve got to be joking! That was just me rambling, I wasn’t seriously thinking…”

“Well, _I_ am very serious”, he interrupts. “Don’t you want a quiet life, just you and me… and the baby?” He place a hand on her belly. His hand is warm, comforting, and protective.

She looks at his beautiful dreamy eyes, her heart melting. He is right, again. It's too dangerous for her, for them. She has a baby to protect now. But this is so sudden, and totally different than what she expected of her life after avenging her father. “I… I need to pursue my father’s work…”

He grips her shoulders. “I almost lost you out there in that Temple. I’m not going to let that happen again, ever. And I’m not going to let anything happen to our child. Listen to me. We must flee.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. I’m carrying my father’s surname, I have responsibilities!”

He takes her chin in his hand, staring into her green eyes. “Then take mine. It doesn’t have as much weight as your father’s, but it’s yours to take, if you want it.”

She smiles, chuckling a little. “Arno, are you…?”

“Am I asking you to marry me? Yes, yes, I am.” There is no hesitation in his voice. Never has he been so sure of his love for her and his desire to make her his wife.

“I suppose I can’t have a child out of wedlock, my father would have been mortified…”

“Élise, is that a yes?” he asks, a broad smile on his face.

She laughs. “Yes. Of course it’s a yes.”

He lowered his lips to hers and swept her up with a passionate kiss, their earlier quarrels entirely forgotten.

After a moment, she breaks the kiss. “Arno?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m keeping my name.”

He laughs wholeheartedly. “We’ll talk about that later.” He places a quick kiss on her forehead. “I’ll drop by the city hall tomorrow to arrange a marriage license. There’s no time for the banns, and to be honest, I’m not interested in both our names to be out in the open, with a time and date. It’s too risky.”

She sighs, weary. “I don’t really have energy to take care of those things…”

“Leave it all to me. Just take of yourself… and our baby,” he says, caressing her cheek with a hand, and her belly with the other.

“And how are we going to pay for that farm of yours? Did you even think about it?” she asks, concerned.

“I could sell the Café…”

She shakes her head in disagreement. “No, you worked so hard to make it thrive-”

He takes her head in his hands. “Which means it will bring good money. And we need to cut our ties with Paris, otherwise they could track us down. The past is the past, Élise. You said it yourself. Going forward isn’t necessarily an ending…”

“You remember.” She smiles as fond memories of the hot air balloon ride, two years before, flood her mind.

He returns her smile. “How could I ever forget that night?” He kisses her lips softly, then her cheeks, and pulls her close, wrapping his hands around her back, rocking her gently. She rests her head on his chest, humming in contentment. After the turmoil of the past years, filled with anger and revenge, it was time for a new beginning. The perspective of motherhood was particularly daunting, but at this right moment, safely tucked in his arms, she felt she could take on the world. As long as they are together.. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be a mother. But this child is here now. And maybe you’re right. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I wanted a baby… Our baby. ”

“Come on, let’s get you out of this room. Let’s go downstairs and celebrate,” he says, beaming.

* * *

Holding hands like two young lovers, they make their way downstairs to the ground floor. A handful of employees are busying themselves in preparation of the evening’s performance, dusting, cleaning, and rearranging the tables and chairs, all under Madeleine’s watchful eye. The bustling immediately stops as they come off the last step and enter the Café area. Madeleine runs towards them and hugs them both tightly. “And?” she asks with a knowing smile.

Their gaze locked on each other for a brief instant. “Élise is indeed pregnant, and the baby is due mid-April,” he announces in a low voice, squeezing Élise’s hand. _Pregnant. With his child_. He still can’t quite realize it.

“Awwwww, I’m so happy for you!” she cheers, rubbing both their shoulders.

Arno puts his finger in front of his lips. “Madeleine, you’ll have to keep this quiet for now, please. We’ll explain later.”

She frowns. “Oh of course Monsieur Arno. Not a problem. Now can I get you two anything? Something to drink?” She turns towards Élise, smiling warmly. “Something to eat, Mademoiselle?”

“Actually, that would be lovely. I’m ravenous!” Élise says, returning her smile.

“I’ll bring you a warm plate of pot-au-feu, Mademoiselle. We need to keep you and your baby well fed. Just go sit by your favorite table, I’ll be right back with food and wine!” she says, hurrying back to the kitchen.

Still holding her hand, Arno leads Élise through the Café, to their table by the window. They barely have time to sit down, as Madeleine comes back carrying a large tray, containing two plates, two glasses, and a bottle of Bordeaux.

“I brought your favorite, Monsieur Arno,” she says in a low voice, arranging the content of the tray on their table. “I thought you might want to celebrate.”

He pours some wine in Élise’s glass and his own. “You are reading my mind. Thank you Madeleine. What would we do without you?”

She bows her head lightly and smiles. “I’m just doing my job, Monsieur. Just doing my job. Enjoy your meal!” She hastens back to work, barking orders at the employees who were standing still.

He looks at Élise sitting across him, with her chin resting in her hand, smiling. They both raise their glasses in a toast. “To a future filled with love!” he says cheerfully, knocking his glass against hers.

She chuckles. “To a future filled with love,” she says before taking a big sip of wine. She immediately grimaces at the taste. “Blergh, this wine is off!”

He raises an eyebrow, then takes a large gulp himself, sighing in satisfaction. “Really? I think it tastes just fine.”

She takes another sip, her face contorting. “No, seriously, the wine is off. And it’s making me nauseous…” she says, placing her hand in front of her mouth.

“Could it just be because you’re pregnant?” he asks, puzzled. “Honestly, this wine tastes absolutely fine. More than fine actually, it’s superb!” He empties his glass with a toss of the head and pours himself another one.

“How would I know, I’ve never been pregnant before. And you know me, I can never refuse wine.” She moves her glass to his side of the table, shaking her head. “There, you can have mine, I’m not drinking this.”

“If you insist”, he says, taking her glass in his hand and bringing it to his mouth to empty it in a couple of large slugs.

“While you’re getting yourself drunk, I’m just going to sit here and eat, I’m starving!” she laughs, then attacking the content of her plate in copious bites.

He reaches out and touches the tip of her nose with his finger. “It’s good to see you eat,’ he says tenderly, staring into her eyes.

She smiles while chewing her food. “You should eat too. It’s delicious!” she says with her mouth full, waving her fork.

“Élise de la Serre, don’t you have any manners? You can’t talk with a full mouth!” he reprimands her with a wink, before taking a bite of meat.

She smiles faintly, a melancholic look on her face. “My father used to say that all the time, bless his soul. I wish he was still alive to meet his first grandchild…” He takes her hand and brings it up to his lips. No words were needed, as they both feel the same emptiness in their heart, left by the death of their parents. They finish eating in silence, glancing at each other from time to time, as to say _everything is going to be okay, we’ll get through this -- together._

Madeleine quietly makes her way to their table, carrying the tray. She starts gathering the empty plates to bring them back to the kitchen. “Madeleine, can you sit down with us for a moment?” Arno says, putting a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Oh. Of course, Monsieur Arno. What’s the matter? Is there something you need? Did I do something wrong?” she asks, leaving the tray on the table and sitting down, visibly nervous.

He smiles reassuringly, but he has a grave look on his face. “No, it’s nothing you’ve done. But we need to tell you something. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, it’s very important for our safety, and for the baby’s.”

“S… sure, of course!” she stutters, fidgeting with her apron.

“Madeleine, this baby wasn’t exactly planned, as you’ve probably figured out, but we are welcoming this child with open arms” he begins in a low voice, being careful as to not being heard by other employees. “Unfortunately, due to all of our… business, as you call it, Élise’s life is potentially in danger. We’ve been keeping a low profile this past month, but it’s just a matter of time. And with a baby…”

She looks at both of them, frowning. “W.. what are you saying?”

“We must flee Paris as soon as possible,” Élise continues solemnly. “We’d rather stay, believe me, but -”

“You are leaving? To go where? When?” she interrupts, stunned by the revelation of their upcoming departure. She had been looking forward to helping Élise before and after the baby’s arrival, and she can’t help but feeling downhearted at the perspective of never being able to see this baby grow up.

“For safety reasons, we can’t tell you where we’re going. I will put the Café up for sale tomorrow. As for when…” He pauses, smiling. “We’re planning on leaving as soon as possible after the wedding.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to repress a cry of joy. “The wedding?”

“Yes, we’re getting married. But again, not a word about it for the time being, understood? We don’t have a date yet, but it will be very soon,” he says, covering her hand with his.

Élise reaches out to take Madeleine’s other hand in hers. “And I’ll need your help Madeleine, as I know absolutely nothing about dresses and flowers!”

Madeleine’s eyes fill with tears. “You can count on me, both of you!” she says, wiping a tear away from her cheek. “Oh I’m going to miss you, Monsieur Arno. There has never been a good owner like you here, never ever. But…” She sighs, shaking her head. “I understand you have no other choice. I don’t want to know about that business of yours, it’s really none of my business, I just wish it didn’t put Mademoiselle Élise and the baby in danger. It’s not fair!”

One by one, the tables are filling with patrons who are coming to watch the play. “We’ll have to continue this discussion at another time, Madeleine,” he whispers, his eyes looking around the room to see if anyone was spying on their conversation.

She gets up to her feet, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hand, and then wiping her palms on her apron. “Of course Monsieur Arno. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Would you like another bottle of wine?” she asks as she finishes piling the empty plates and the empty bottle on the tray.

He smiles. “Yes, one of the same if you still have one. It was divine. And some tea for Élise, please.”

She bows her head, hauling the tray on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back!”

Moments later, she returns with another bottle of Bordeaux and a pot of tea. “Congratulations again, Monsieur Arno and Mademoiselle Élise. I really wish you all, all the best,” she says with a thin voice, before turning around and rushing back to the kitchen.

Élise moves her chair to sit closer to him, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around hers. “Arno? I think we broke the poor woman’s heart.”

“I think you’re right. We didn’t have a choice though, did we?” He lifts her chin with his thumb and index, kissing her lips softly. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Let’s just enjoy the play.”

“Good idea,” she says, closing her eyes, smiling contentedly, her stomach full, the warmth of his body against hers enveloping and soothing. It wasn’t long before she was asleep in his arms.

* * *

“Élise? Did I ever tell you…?” he begins, looking at her tenderly as she is resting her head on his lap, touching her cheek softly. The Café is quiet. Tonight’s show is over and most clients have left the establishment.

She opens her eyes in a daze. “Tell me what?” she mumbles. _I must have fallen asleep again_.

“Did I ever tell you that you are beautiful?”

She rubs her eyes and blinks a few times, then smiles faintly, her cheeks taking on a rosy color. “I don’t know. Maybe? I honestly don’t keep track of those things.”

He leans forward to kiss her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. “I’ve told you that I loved you... I’ve told you that I wanted you... I’ve told you that I wanted you to be my wife... I’ve told you that I wanted a family with you… But I can’t recall one single instance when I actually told you that you are beautiful.”

“Arno, you’re rambling. You’re drunk,” she says, chuckling.

“I’m not drunk, I’m just happy!” he replies with a broad grin, hugging her tightly against him.

She points at the table, smirking. “That’s your second bottle of the evening. And you had another one with our meal. And I can definitely smell it on your breath. You’re drunk.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Then I’m both drunk _and_ happy. And you’re beautiful. And I wouldn’t be so drunk if you would have helped me drink those bottles.”

She sits up in her chair, massaging her stiff neck, stretching her arms and straightening her back. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking wine for a while, I’m nauseous just thinking about it…”

“All right, no wine for you then!” he retorts, emptying the bottle in his glass and drinking it in one gulp.

“I’m tired, I want to go to bed,” she says yawning, her eyes heavy.

“You’ve been sleeping -- pardon, snoring! -- in my arms most of the evening, do you really need more sleep?” he teases, his own eyes getting heavier by the second. He kisses her lips softly. “Bedtime it is. For both of us. Today has been quite a day. And we have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

They both get up to their feet on wobbly legs, but for different reasons. Arm in arm, giggling, they walk back to the staircase and up to their room. They stumble several times, missing a step, triggering more giggles. Midway up the stairs, he slides his arm around her waist, squeezing her bum, while his other arm pulls her head closer to his for a deep, sloppy kiss. She could taste the wine in his mouth, and it was making her gag. She shakes her head, tearing her lips away from his. “Arno, no. Not now. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But that’s exactly where I want to go…” he purrs, his speech slurred.

She laughs. “To bed _to sleep_. It’s too warm, I’m exhausted, you are drunk, and we don’t even know if it’s safe for the baby…”

He kisses her cheek, his lips moving down to her jawline. “You could never survive a nine months drought, I know you too well!”

She takes his head in her hands, staring deep in his drowsy eyes. “I said NO!” she reiterates firmly. “I love you. But not tonight,” she continues, her tone somewhat mellower.

He was visibly put out by her rejection, but he knew too well not to insist. He winces. His eyes were throbbing. _I really had too much wine._ “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… You’re right, I need some sleep!”

She wraps her arm around the small of his back while he wraps his around her shoulder, supporting each other, going up the rest of the stairs and to their room. They undress quietly, lost in their thoughts. It had been a long, emotional, and tiresome day. He briefly glances as her as she unpins her hair, letting it fall like a red halo around her freckled skin. _Gosh, she_ is _beautiful_ , he thinks to himself. _And she is mine._ A baby and a wife on the same day, was Lady Luck finally on his side? They climb into bed, laying side by side like slotted spoons. He brushes her hair away, kissing the back of her neck softly. “I love you. Sleep well, my love.” After a moment and without warning, he rolls her onto her back, making her squeal.

“What are you doing?” she asks, startled.

He leans over her to place a kiss on her belly, patting it gently. “I just forgot to kiss our son goodnight,” he defends.

“Our son, huh?” She chuckles, threading her fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s going to be a girl. Mother’s instinct, that sort of thing.”

He shakes his head in disagreement. “We’ll see about that!”

He moves back up her body to kiss her lips one more time before taking his original position, his arm wrapped around her waist and her stomach, nuzzling her hair. Sighing blissfully, fatigue setting in, they close their eyes. It’s not long until the sound of his snoring fills the room.

_Mother's instinct._ She never thought she would utter those words, but tonight, they felt right. She brings her hands to her belly, one atop the other. “Goodnight, little baby,” she whispers before drifting asleep.


	3. An Unexpected Journey

**August 30, 1794**

Madeleine’s relationship with the couple was always one of almost complete trust once they left their previous outlets once and for all. Therefore, neither Arno nor Élise were surprised when they woke up to find her pulling all the curtains in their bedroom, successfully waking them up without making a loud noise.

Arno’s mind, however, is screaming. He instinctively reaches for the covers and crawls back under them, suddenly feeling awful. Next to him, Élise awakes slowly, in a daze, feeling the familiar queasiness in her stomach that has been her constant morning companion the past few days. She turns her head towards Arno, who is still hiding under the covers, grumbling. She pulls the covers down, eliciting a loud groan from him. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine this morning!” she teases. His only answer is to cover his eyes with his hands and turn around, avoiding the light coming from the window. As he turns, he feels his head spinning and a pressure behind his eyes.

“Good morning, Madeleine,” Élise says with a faint smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“How are you feeling, Mademoiselle?”

“I’ve had better mornings, but I’ve also had worse ones. However, there’s a certain someone who is definitely not having a good morning, is he?” Élise touches his shoulder lightly, only to have her hand pushed away by Arno.

“Three bottles of wine… tsk tsk tsk… What else do you expect?”

Élise draws closer to him in order to give him a warm embrace, but he pushes her away and accidentally hits her sensitive breast. She groans at the pain and hisses.

“I am not going to ever let you drink that much ever again, do you hear me? You’re really unbearable this morning!” she shouts, wincing.

Arno said something, but the sound was too low for anyone else to hear. He silently thanked all the deities he knew for that.

“Monsieur Arno, let me get you a warm bath, it’s sure to help you feel better…” Madeleine leaves in a hurry. She knew better than to stay around and butt in a couple's fight.

Élise moves closer to him again, her hand carefully gliding over his side and over his chest. She places soft kisses behind his neck. “Arno, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. However, it is quite amusing to see you look terrible this morning. Now you know how I’ve been feeling lately. Without the headache, perhaps.”

Arno's face rose from the pillows and he turned around in the bed, squinting his eyes and silently cursing Madeleine for not closing the curtains back.

“My head… it’s killing me… and I feel sick…” His mouth is dry and pasty, with the bitter after-taste of wine. _It surely tasted better yesterday_ , he thinks to himself.

“Yes, that’s what happens when you drink too much. Even if you had a very valid reason and felt like celebrating.” She traces circles on his chest with her fingers, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t need your lectures…” he growls.

“I’m not lecturing you; I’m just stating a fact.”

“Élise, please. Stop. Right now." His voice is harsh and he covers his ears, trying to stop more sound from coming. " _Stop talking_. It’s making my head hurt even more.”

She recoils in surprise at his crankiness and sits squarely in the bed. “I’m making an effort not to feel insulted.” He swallows, swiping off cold sweat on his forehead. Élise sighs in resignation and gets up slowly, not feeling so good herself. Madeleine's footsteps are soon heard on the end of the corridor and she arrives carrying buckets of hot water and pours them in the bathtub.

“There you are, now let me know if you need anything else. I’ll have a hearty breakfast and hot tea ready for you when you come downstairs. Mademoiselle Élise, shall I prepare something for you as well?”

“I’ll have some tea, I’m not sure I can eat anything for the next couple of hours, to be honest. Would you bring the teapot here? I don’t feel like going downstairs yet, I want to rest some more.”

“As you wish.” Madeleine leaves, and Élise turns to Arno.

“Your bath is ready.”

“I heard. I’m not deaf.”

“You look like hell.”

He chuckles. “Thank you for the compliment.”

She smiles. But her smile faints quickly as the smell of lavender spreads through the room, and she instinctively covers her mouth with her hand. She lies back in bed, closing her eyes and breathing slowly in and out, trying to calm down the wave of nausea rising in her stomach.

“We have to tell Madeleine to use something else than lavender oil when doing the laundry. The smell is triggering me…”

Arno silently sits up, feeling his head beginning to spin. Bringing his hand to his temple, he rubs it gently, and then gets up carefully, walking slowly towards the tub, steadying himself on the bed posts and the screen.

* * *

Despite feeling somewhat better after his bath, Arno craves the comfort of his bed and wants nothing more than staying there until the end of the day, but the obligation to request the marriage license won’t leave his head. And no, there are no delays acceptable. The faster, the better. He goes downstairs and has a quick meal consisting on whatever Madeleine had in handy at the moment.

She notices his hastiness. “In a hurry there, Monsieur Arno? You know you should stay and rest, don’t you? The worst decisions are made when you’re hungover. Well, the second worst, worse ones are when you’re still drunk and--”

Arno rubs his temple slowly, the most polite and quick way to shush the woman he could think of at the moment. “I need to get this sorted out, Madeleine. Time is running against us.” He sighs. “ _As it always has been..._ ”

He eats the rest of his food in silence as Madeleine and passing-by employees eye him curiously and worriedly. After finishing, he gets up and goes to the City Hall without warning anyone, with his loud thoughts distracting his mind and the sun’s brightness nearly shutting them up.

* * *

Upon arriving at the City Hall, Arno goes straight to the civil servant’s desk, in the hope of getting away from here as soon as possible.

He can’t help but feel nervous in anticipation. What if he can’t get the license? What if their plan cannot be executed? And still, this hammering in his head. The civil servant raises his eyes above his spectacles, looking unconcerned. “What can I do for you, Monsieur?”

Arno smiles faintly, trying to mask his nervousness. “I need to obtain a marriage license…”

“You know there is a fee, I presume?”

“Yes, I know there is a fee,” Arno retorts arrogantly. “We’re a bit in a hurry and for reasons that I cannot mention, we cannot allow the publication of the banns.”

“That’s quite unusual, but not impossible. You’ll just have to answer a few questions. I need to ensure that there are no impediments to marriage--”

“Can we do this quickly?” Arno interrupts. “How long is this going to take?”

“Just a few minutes, let me get the registry…” The servant gets up unhurriedly and leaves his desk to fetch the registry. Arno covers his face from the bright light that falls directly into his face and taps his feet impatiently waiting for the man to return.

A few minutes later, the civil servant reappears carrying the large book, and lays it open on his desk, at the latest free entry. “Right, please, have a seat, Monsieur…?” he asks, dipping his quill in the inkwell.

“Dorian. Arno Victor Dorian.” He sits down, sinking into the chair.

“And the bride’s name?”

“Élise de la Serre.” The servant raises an eyebrow, which bothers Arno. _Did her name sound familiar to him?_

“Can you give me the names of the parents of both parties, please?”

“Charles and Marie Dorian. Both deceased. And, uhhh...”

“Yes?”

“François and Julie de la Serre. Both… deceased as well.”

The servant looks at Arno curiously, and the latter bites his lip to hold back an annoyed groan. He servant looks down to his registry, and writes down the names of Élises’s parents. “Right, right. Noted. Age?”

“Twenty-six. We’re both 26 years old.”

“You have never been married?”

“No, we’ve never been married.”

“Religion?”

Arno hesitates. They’ve never spoken about their respective religious beliefs. But he must answer the question. “Catholic,” he answers quickly. “ _I suppose_ ,” he mutters under his breath.

The civil servant continues to go through his list. “And neither of you or Mademoiselle has vowed to chastity or lack capacity for consummation of the marriage?”

This question made Arno chuckle. Ha, _as if._ If it was the case, they wouldn’t be rushing into this marriage, would they?

“No, no such thing,” he says, feeling his cheeks turn red.

The civil servant looks at him, amused. “I see, I see. Are you and Mademoiselle related in any way, such as by blood or… by adoption?”

Arno flinches, his smile fainting. Well, it was never _official_ … “No, we’re not related at all. Not even by adoption. Is that all?” _I really need to get out of here as soon as possible_ , he thinks.

The civil servant casts one last look at his list, and then returns the quill to its place. He blows a few times over the page to dry the ink. “Yes, that was my last question indeed. Based on your answers, I see no reasons not to issue the marriage license.”

Arno lets out a deep sigh of relief. It even feels like his headache is less pronounced all of a sudden. “And how soon can we get married? Time is of the essence,” he asks with a confident smile, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.

The clerk flips through the pages of what looks like an agenda, with scribbled notes scattered in various squares. “I seem to have an opening on September 12, at 16:00.”

Our groom’s heart sinks. He tries to remain calm, but inside his foggy mind, his thoughts are racing. “A fortnight?”

The servant shakes his head, removing his spectacles to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. September this year seems to be very busy, for one reason or another.”

Arno groans in displeasure, sitting back in his chair, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “Fine, September 12 it is.”

“Monsieur, regarding the marriage contract, may I remind you that you need to produce a signed copy of the contract by both parties, including the signature of a witness for each party, no later than the day before the wedding?”

The groom widens his eyes in surprise. “A witness?”

“Yes, each party entering the marriage contract must be accompanied by at least one witness. Normally, the bride and groom’s parents serve as witnesses, but since both your parents are deceased, the presence of a witness, who has known you for at least 2 years, will suffice”.

_No, this can’t be happening…_ “And if we cannot find any witnesses - or let me put it this way, if we choose not to have any witnesses, what will happen?”

“Then the contract will not be validated and you will not be allowed to marry.”

Arno sighs, both at the news and the pounding resuming on his head. “There is really no other way around this…? Not even for a fee?” he asks with what he hoped to be his most convincing smile.

“No, I’m afraid not, Monsieur. Not even for a fee.”

He winces. “Fine, we’ll sign the contract in front of witnesses.” _How are we going to solve this, I have to speak to Élise, she won’t be pleased…_

“There, Monsieur, your marriage license,” the servant says as he finishes writing it. “You need to show this paper to the notary upon signing the contract, and at the City Hall when you bring the contract duly signed.”

“Thank you.” Arno secures the document in the pocket close to his heart.  “I’ll be sure to keep it safe.”

“You can go to the desk over there to pay your fee. Goodbye Monsieur, and congratulations!”

The servant smiles politely and shakes Arno’s hand. Arno pays the fee and heads to the Café as hurriedly as possible, before anything else distracts him or drives him further from his bed.

* * *

Élise sits on a small bench by the fountain outside of the Café, enjoying the coolness of the breeze and the calming sound of water trickling on the rocks. She reads a book one of the employees brought her, but the story isn’t distracting enough to prevent her from noticing Arno as he arrives and sits next to her.

“I have the marriage license and the wedding date has been set for September 12,” he announces, putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

She closes the book and smiles faintly. “Good, so you _are_ able to take care of things when you put your mind to it!”

Arno sighs. “Élise, my head is pounding. I’m really not in the mood for your sarcasm. I have the license, but there’s a hiccup.”

She frowns. “A hiccup?”

He looks down, avoiding her gaze, choosing his words carefully before speaking. “We need witnesses present at the signature of the marriage contract. One for each party, and this witness has to know us for at least 2 years.”

“Witnesses? What do you mean?” she asks, stunned.

He sighs. _This is going to be difficult._ “Yes, witnesses. Our parents aren’t here to consent to our marriage, and act as witnesses when we sign the contract.”

Her mouth opens in disbelief. “And you couldn’t pay yourself out of that one?”

“Believe me, I tried.”

She slams her book on the bench next to her, making him jolt, and crosses her arms on her chest. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. This marriage has to remain a secret, but suddenly we need witnesses. Brilliant.”

He puts his head in his hands, wishing he didn’t have to hold this conversation at this right moment. “I’m sure we’ll find someone. I could ask Madeleine to be my witness. She knows we’re getting married after all. And she’s known me long enough to qualify.”

“Great, you’re settled. What about me?” she snaps.

“Who do you trust?”

“That’s the problem, I trust no one. No one in France, anyway.” She looks away, thinking. “To be honest, there’s only one person still alive I’d like to see at my wedding.”

“And who would that be?”

“Mr. Weatherall, who else?”

“But, Élise… _he lives in England_.”

“And?” she retorts, slightly miffed.

Arno sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index and thumb. Élise carried on. “I want him at my wedding, and I want him to be my witness.”

“That’s easier said than done… We need to sign the contract no later than the 11th. It’s August 30 today…”

“You said you were going to take care of everything!” she bawls, tears pricking her eyes.

_No, no tears please. Not now._ He stares at her, the hammering in his head reaching new heights. “Do you realize I’ll have to leave you behind for several days in order to bring him back in France on time?”

She holds his gaze, her eyes fixed despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’ve lived without you for several _years_ at a time in the past, and I was doing fine on my own.”

“But you weren’t pregnant.” He tries to reach out to her cheek and wipe her tears, but she swaps his hand away.

“Being pregnant doesn’t make me weak or incapable. And Madeleine can take care of me.”

Arno rolled his eyes. Why did the woman had such a desire to be stubborn? “I’m thinking about your safety, Élise. You can barely go down a flight of stairs without feeling dizzy; do you really think you can fight off a swarm of Templars or Assassins, thirsty for revenge?”

She knows he is right, but she is too headstrong to admit it. She sighs and smiles faintly, her eyes now pleading. “I’ll be fine. I’ll keep a low profile, I promise. I won’t leave the Café. I’ll stay in your room. And God help me, with adrenaline rushing through my body, I’m sure I can defend myself if need be. Please, do it for me. I need to see him before we leave Paris… I need to say goodbye.”

He leans forward to kiss her forehead and cup her head in his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “As you wish. I really can’t refuse you anything, can I?”

She chuckles. “You love me, that’s why.”

They stay silent for a few minutes, as Arno wonders how fast that trip can be arranged. Élise remains quiet, already overcome with enthusiasm at the prospect of meeting her former trainer and advisor.

His hands move to her shoulders. “I’ll set off tomorrow morning. It will be a long journey…”

She nods. “Thank you for doing this. It means a lot to me.”

He grimaces, blinking several times. “I’m going to rest a bit, this headache is killing me.”

She reaches to caress his cheek, and brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Want some company? I could use a nap myself…”

“It’s my turn to insist that we’re going to bed _to sleep_ ,” he teases.

“You’re the one making insinuations…” she says, laughing. “I never had any other intentions than sleep.”

Arno gets up and offers his hand to help her get up. “Come on then…”

* * *

**August 31, 1794**

After sleeping like a log for more than 12 hours, Arno felt refreshed. He needed all the energy he could muster considering the long journey he was about to make. Never having gone to England before, he wasn’t sure what he would find there, except for funny accents and rude people. _Weatherall better agree to come with me, and he better do so quickly,_ he thought to himself.

“Do you have everything?” Élise asks, rubbing his back as he loads the trunks inside the coach.

“Weapons, clothes, plenty of money, what else do you want me to bring?” he answers, lifting the heaviest of the trunks, carrying the weapons.

“Here, some food for your journey.” Madeleine announces with a huge basket on her arms. “There’s bread, and cheese, and some wine too.”

“Awwww thank you” Arno comes to meet Madeleine and takes the basket from her arms. He can’t help smelling its content. “Seems delicious! I have no idea what to expect of this journey, but at least I’ll be well-fed thanks to you.”

“We’re ready Monsieur.” The coachman calls. Arno moves closer to the coach and places the basket inside.

“Come back to me in one piece, with Frederick,” Élise orders, waving a finger at him.

He pulls her close for a tight embrace. “And you, stay safe, my love. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“I love you,” she whispers softly.

“I love you too.”

Their lips lock in a deep kiss, as they try to make this moment last for as long as they can. The coachman interrupts them with a discreet cough. Stealing one chaster kiss, he lets go of her and hops inside the coach, but pops his head out of the window just in time to say one last thing.  “Uhh...Élise?” He grins. “Stay out of trouble.”

She smiles back. “Don’t get caught.”

They wave goodbye as the coach sets off, blowing each other a kiss.

Élise sighs, her heart heavy. It was true what he told him yesterday: they often spent years apart, without any form of contact other than the odd letter. But that was before. Before they truly fell in love, and now that she’s carrying their baby, the thought of being separated is unbearable, even for a few days. Madeleine touches her shoulder to comfort her. “He’ll be back soon, don’t you worry Mademoiselle Élise.”

She gives the maid a thin smile. “I just hope he’ll make it back on time…”

“He will. Have faith.”

“Madeleine, I need to ask you a favor. As we’ve explained, for safety reasons, no one can know we are getting married, and now that Arno is gone, I must keep a low profile. This means I need you to find me a wedding dress. Would you do that for me?” she asks with a broad grin.

Madeleine cries in joy and takes Élise’s hands in hers. “But of course, Mademoiselle Élise. Leave that all to me. Any preferences? Fabric? Color?”

_Why can’t she ask me about sword fighting instead? I know nothing about dresses! I am such a pitiful woman!_ she thinks to herself. “Won’t my dress be white?”

The maid laughs heartily at Élise’s confusion. “Yes, of course, your dress will be white. But I’m talking about a touch of color, here and there.”

“Errr… green?” she says, uncertain what to say.

“Oh yes, with your hair and your eyes, green is a great choice. And what about flowers? What are your favorite flowers?”  
She blushes. “No one ever offered me flowers; I really have no idea...”

“Lilies? Daisies? Tulips?”

She looks around. She sees a woman walk down the street, holding a basket filled with red roses. “Roses. Red roses.” _I just hope the smell of roses won’t make me gag like lavender does_ , she wishes silently.

Madeleine gives Élise her widest, most radiant smile. “Perfect. Red roses it is. This afternoon, when I’ll go to the market, I’ll stop by the tailor to have your dress made, and I’ll make sure the florist knows he needs to have red roses for you on your wedding day. Leave it all to me; you’ll be the prettiest bride the whole of Paris will have seen in a long, long time. Leave it all to me!”

Madeleine’s enthusiasm is contagious. “Thank you, Madeleine. Thank you, so much.” As they hug each other, Élise thinks she saw a shadow move behind the curtain of the house across the street. Her senses are immediately in alert. It might just be her imagination… “I better go back inside, Madeleine. I shouldn’t stay exposed in the street for too long. It’s not safe.”

* * *

**September 10, 1794**

After the long boring hours in a ship shifting uncontrollably with the waves, the long travel from the port to Paris was being a smoother travel, and so Arno couldn’t help but fall asleep in the floor of the coach. Mr. Weatherall, on the other hand, could not rest. After being retired for years, he hadn’t hoped to set foot to France ever again. Nevertheless, Arno Dorian himself appeared out of nowhere in his doorstep and announced the only name that could get him away from England: Élise de la Serre. Plus a bonus: “soon to be married”.

Could it be, then? His little girl was finally getting married. He never thought such thing was ever going to happen. She was too much of a free spirit to sell herself over some papers, and no man could bear to have such a strong woman by his side questioning his every decision. It made a little more sense that the groom would be Arno, the only boy she ever managed to love for her entire life despite having many other options wherever she went. “If only Julie had been here to see her now…” Tears threaten to form on his eyes, but he maintains his composure. Instead, he focuses on imagining the event about to take place: what to say, to do and how to behave. He was a bit rusty when it came to social gatherings, and an Englishman’s behavior didn’t always manage to please the French.

Upon reaching their destination, Arno wakes up in a jump, still feeling tired and somewhat injured from being tossed around for a couple of hours. Nonetheless, he offers help to take Mr. Weatherall out of the coach, and he accepts it. Arno pays the coachman and unloads the trunks on the side of the street, giving Mr. Weatherall his crutches to make their way to Café.

Weatherall tilts his head back to look at the whole façade. “So this is where you’ve been living all this time, since François passed away.”

Arno grimaces. Welcoming a Templar in an Assassin’s stronghold is always risky business. Especially when that Templar is Germain’s old sparring partner. “Well, not exactly…”

Weatherall waves a hand to silence him. “No need to pussyfoot around me, I know very well what this Café represents and who handed it to you.”

“I hope it won’t bother you?” Arno asks with a sheepish smile. “I’d really appreciate if you would stay here with us for the coming days. It would mean the world to Élise. I’ll have a room ready for you, and breakfast too.”

“It doesn’t bother me the slightest,” Weatherall said, shaking his head. “I’m too old and too crippled for this feud. I’ll accept your invitation gladly.”

Arno sighs in relief, and gestures to Weatherall to get inside. “Right this way then.”

Weatherall enters the café hopping on his crutches. Arno follows him carrying the first trunk and puts it down carefully to not damage the floor, while other employees help him carry the other trunks inside the Café.

Despite her morning sickness, Élise comes rushing down the stairs, beaming to see her lover again, followed by a very out-of-breath Madeleine. She flies into Arno’s arms and he lifts her from the floor, swinging her around as they kiss. “Arno, put me down, you’re really making me sick with all that twirling,” she chuckles.

He slowly lowers her down to her feet, stealing one more kiss. “I missed you! I’m so happy to be back!” he says, hugging her tightly against him, smoothing her hair.

There’s a discreet coughing coming from behind. Élise cocks her head, and her face lightens up upon seeing her visitor. She leaves Arno’s embrace to give Frederick Weatherall a hug, like long lost friends seeing each other again. “Mr. Weatherall, Frederick! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Couldn’t let you get married without me, now could I?” He takes a step back to look at Élise. “Look at you! Looking all lady-like in your dress. Your mother’s spitting image…” he says, his voice breaking. They hug again in silence. After recovering his composure, Weatherall notices Madeleine standing behind Élise, playing absently with the corner of her apron. “And who is that lovely lady?”

Élise turns to Madeleine, touching her shoulder gently to catch her attention. “Frederick, this is Madeleine, our wonder woman! She’ll take good care of you during your stay. Madeleine, this is… well… an old friend, Frederick Weatherall.”

Madeleine extends a hand to shake Frederick’s, but he takes her hand to kiss it. “Very delighted to meet you, Madeleine.”

Madeleine covers her mouth with her hand, trying to hide her crimson cheeks. “Oh gosh, Sir, I’m flattered…”

“Call me Freddie, please.”

Élise is amused by the scene unfolding in front of her. She raises an eyebrow while looking at Weatherall, but he only has eyes for Madeleine.

“All right. Sir Freddie, if you would follow me, I’ll have your breakfast ready in a couple of minutes. Mademoiselle Élise, anything to eat or to drink?” Madeleine asks, a slight nervousness in her voice.

“Just a cup of tea, please. I’m not really hungry.”

Élise and Weatherall follow Madeleine to the Café, sitting at the couple’s favorite table by the window. The maid rushes to the kitchen. Élise noticed a certain lightness in her footsteps.

“How was the travel?” Élise asks politely, breaking the silence between her and her table companion.

“Fine, as much as an unexpected journey on rocky waves and rocky roads can be,” he retorts grumpily.

“I’m really glad to see you though. Couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to be present at my wedding.”

Madeleine comes back with a large tray containing breakfast for Weatherall and a pot of tea for Élise. “There you are! Bon appétit, Sir Freddie and Mademoiselle Élise!” she says cheerfully.

He takes a few bites of buttered bread. In front of him, Élise is carefully swallowing her tea, the smell of his food making her feel nauseous.

He puts his knife down next to his plate with a loud noise, making her flinch. “Are you going to tell me? Or will I have to squeeze it out of you?”

“I… I don’t know… what you mean…” she stutters.

He slams the palm of his hand flat on the table. “Élise, one morning I find that boy on my doorstep, hurrying me to come to France because you are getting married.”

“Why is that surprising? You know I love him,” she says defensively.  

Weatherall’s impatience is growing. “Oh, I know you two are in love. I’m not surprised you are finally making it official. What’s surprising is the rush… What are you hiding from me?”

She shakes her head, avoiding his gaze, spinning her teacup in its saucer. “Nothing. We just agreed to make it official, as you said. And we didn’t see any reason to wait…”

“Élise…”

“All right, _all right_ , yes, you are correct, I’m… hiding something.” She feels like a child being scolded after getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He smirks. “Of course you are. I know you better than anyone else here.” He leans forward over the table. “Now cough it up,” he orders firmly.

She meets his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”

“Blimey!” he exclaims, followed by a deep sigh. “Can’t say I didn’t expect that. It was bound to happen one day or another. Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose! If only your parents were still of this world to see it happen…”

She chuckles. “Father wouldn’t have been pleased. His only daughter, future Templar Grand Master, getting herself knocked up out of wedlock by a lower ranked Assassin boy! I was supposed to convince him to join our cause, but not like that!”

They both laugh, knowing very well she was right. She continues: “And mother… as long as I’m getting married to cover the shame...”

“There’s something else though. I can feel it. This is not the only reason why you’re rushing into this wedding now, is it?”

She sighs. She really can’t get anything past him, can she? “We’re fleeing Paris. We’re leaving within a couple of weeks, as soon as the Café sells.”

“What? And why is that?” he asks, not quite believing what he’s hearing.

“Freddie, we’ve been hiding here since Germain’s death. I have as much support now as I’ve had before -- basically _none_. It’s just a matter of time before Germain’s followers decide to go after us, after me. The Brotherhood promised to leave us alone, but for how long? And now that I’m pregnant… I can’t let anything happen to my child.” She instinctively places a hand on her belly. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“You’re giving up?” he shouts. “After your father gave his life for the Order, after what your mother went through, you’re just going to stop fighting? That’s not like you Élise, not at all…”

She looks at him straight in the eyes. “I’m not saying I’ll never pick up the fight again, but for the time being, I have to think of my safety and my child’s. I’ve lost enough people around me. I’m convinced this child was conceived around the time of Germain’s death. This child is a gift of life. It’s life’s way of telling me I should start living my own life…”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You were destined for greater things than standing barefoot in the kitchen with children in tow.”

“I am given the opportunity to make my own destiny,” she retorts firmly between her teeth.

He knew better not to argue with her. “Fine, if that’s what you really want. And the father of this child? What does he think of all this?”

“I have to admit, fleeing was his idea.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he says bitterly.

She feels her blood boiling and it’s her turn to slam the palm of her hand on the table. She will not tolerate Arno being put down, not even by her long-time trainer. “He was thinking as a father. As a father who wants to protect his unborn child and his future wife.”

“It’s not like you to accept being protected by someone else, even if that someone is Arno.”

“Life changes you, sometimes,” she says in a calmer, yet determined voice.

“This is very true, I can’t deny that.” He finishes his breakfast quietly, while she stares absently out the window. There is something she wants more than anything, and after their heated conversation, she struggles to find the courage to ask. After a moment, she breaks the silence. “Freddie, will you make me the honor of giving me away at my wedding in 2 days? Like a father would?”

Her request melts his heart. “Of course I will, child. Of course I will.”

“Your belongings are in your room, Sir Freddie, and you’ve got a warm bath waiting for you. Do you need any help?” says Madeleine jovially while cleaning their table.

Weatherall sighs in satisfaction. “What a service! No, I’ll be fine, thank you very much Madeleine.” He touches her arm and winks. “Delicious breakfast by the way, give my compliments to the cook!”

Madeleine mumbles something inaudible while blushing uncontrollably.

Élises’s eyes go from one to the other. She can’t help but feel like the intruder. “I’ll go check on Arno…” She gets up from her chair. Her legs feel weak and she has to hold herself steady by putting her hands on the table while her dizziness eases off.

Weatherall looks at her worriedly and gets up himself to give her a hand. “Élise, are you all right?”

She smiles reassuringly. “Oh I’m fine, just pregnant woman troubles. Nothing more.”

“I remember when Julie was pregnant with you,” he says, melancholic. “She was very sick in the beginning, but as the pregnancy evolved, she bloomed. She was so happy to be carrying you, Élise. So blessed.”

“Then you understand why I need to flee to protect my child.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder, nodding. “I do, I do…”

Élise walks slowly towards the staircase, while Madeleine hands Weatherall his crutches to lead him to his room.

* * *

Later that day, the four of them travel to the notary’s office to sign the marriage contract. Sitting outside the notary’s study, waiting to be called in, the bride and groom are visibly nervous. The contract they are about to sign will officialize their union on the eyes of the law, and there is no turning back. Arno doesn’t want to let go of Élise’s hand, as if he sensed she was about to slip away from him, but he wasn’t going to allow it. Finally, someone calls their names.

The bride, the groom and their witnesses sit down in the oversized and overly decorated chairs in the notary’s study. After greeting them, he hands them the contracts. “Here are 2 copies of the contract; would you please read and sign?”

Élise takes one of the copies, already fearing what she was about to read. Ten seconds in and she spots the first bad news. “So Versailles and the Paris villa remain mine, but all of my money becomes yours? _My father’s_ money, may I add? If your father was still alive, he would have probably made my father cough up quite a sum for me to marry you…”

Arno bites his lip and shakes his head slightly. That stung, but he had to endure it. He saw it coming, to be fair. She’d never take it lightly to a wedding... “If my father was still alive, we wouldn’t be getting married in the first place.”

“Fair point. But what are _you_ bringing in anyway? Why is it the bride who has to bring in everything? Does that sound fair to you?”

Arno runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “I don’t make the contracts…”

“No, but HE DOES!” she shouts. The notary widened his eyes at the accusation.

“I’m just following the law here Mademoiselle…”

“Then the law is WRONG.” Élise resumes reading. Meanwhile, Arno looks behind him to where Madeleine and Frederick were sitting. The maid had her face down and shook her head slowly, while Weatherall looked at the young groom with an awkward smile that shouted pride and reassurance at the same time. “At least here it says whatever corner table I decide to bring into the marriage remains mine…”

“…and it also says that you have an obligation of intimacy, will that be a problem too?” Arno says without thinking, bringing his palm to his mouth immediately. He wasn’t the only one in the room who did that.

“Oh you didn’t just say that, did you? This is no joke, Arno. I’m not signing this!” She gets up and storms out of the room, and Arno stays seated for a few moments just slapping himself on his head. Just how stupid could he be?

As soon as he realizes his wedding is about to go down, he gets in a haste and runs outside, not avoiding Frederick’s amused gaze and Madeleine resting her head on her hands, still shaking her head, although slightly faster now.

“Élise, calm down!” he calls upon seeing her on the end of the corridor.

“Calm down?” she laughs, but it’s a fake and nervous laughter. Not the one he used to love… “CALM DOWN? You don’t realize that the moment I put my signature on this document, the second I sign it, I will officially cease to exist?

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“If I sign this document, my name will be forever changed to Madame Arno Dorian -- Élise de la Serre will not be my name anymore.”

“It’s not like that…”

“YES, IT IS!” He notices people looking at them curiously, but doesn’t have the guts to tell her to tone down. She continues her rant: “Don’t you realize how misogynistic the law is? As unmarried women, we are our own person. We can sign our own name on official documents. We are addressed by our own name. But the second we sign the marriage contract… we only exist through our husband’s name. MY name is all I have left, Arno. ALL I HAVE LEFT. Of my family, of my past, of everything. If I give it up… it’s like… it’s like I’m dying.”

“But you’re not dying!” he supplicates, feeling a tug at his heartstrings. “I understand it’s… unfair.”

“Unfair doesn’t even begin to describe it. And if you think I’m going to let myself be enslaved like that--”

“Fine,” he interrupts, done with her typical stubbornness. “We’re not getting married, if that’s what you want. I think we’re done here.” He leaves her for the chilly evening. Looking up, he seeks for the highest spot available, and restrains himself from breaking down until he’s there. It takes a while with shaky hands, but old habits never die.

Élise sits down and covers her face while she lets her anger out. Noticing what she just done, what she had ruined, her sobs become loud enough for her witnesses to find her easily. Realizing she wasn’t alone, she looks up, ashamed.

“He’s gone” is all she manages out.

Madeleine sits by her side and wipes her tears with her thumb. “Lovers’ quarrel, nothing more, my child.”

“I will not sign this contract, it’s unfair, it’s enslaving me, it’s…”

Frederick takes her by her shoulder and shakes her, which seem to make her stop for one second. “Do you really think he’s going to treat you like a slave? Do you really think he is capable of treating you badly? You’ve put a spell on that boy! From the moment he joined your family, all he’s ever done, is try to impress you. Try to be worthy of your attention, of your love. And you are worth far more than a name. Arno loves you. And you love him too, don’t you?”

“Of course, that’s a silly question!”

Frederick smiles. “Then you have to trust him. Has he ever let you down?”

She feels tears forming again. “I have to find him…”

“He cannot be far. You know him. He can’t stand being away from you for too long…”

Meanwhile, it’s windy on the rooftop of the building Arno’s sitting on, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he’d exchange the feeling of having all his hopes crushed for the one of a thousand knives cutting his skin anytime. On that moment, the woman he loved had rejected him, and that hurt more than any physical pain he’d ever experienced. He manages to hold back the hysterical crying that begged to be released from his throat in fear of being exposed. Instead, quiet crying would suffice. If anyone spotted him they’d agree he looked like an angry child, with a pout holding his sobs and a frown as he searched endlessly for what he’d done wrong.

He wipes his tears away as a reflex, but there’s nothing to hide anymore. Life had finally beaten him down. It was sad, but with everyone he had ever loved away from his life he had no reason to carry on anymore. The radical swing from his morning bliss to his current state of despair made him want to crawl into his bed never to leave again.

All of a sudden, he hears a distant voice calls his name. Who could it be? Is it death arriving late, finally catching up with the man who gave her so much work to do in the last few months? Is it his earliest childhood memory of his mother calling him to get down from a tree, the first thing he assumes to see when life passes before his eyes? Or was it Julie de la Serre begging him to be patient with her daughter, she didn’t mean that after all?

None of those. Once the shouts were closer, he distinguishes them as being Élise’s. He closes his eyes to hold back more tears.

_Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go_ … he repeats in his mind like a mantra. _She doesn’t want you, it can’t be her, it’s your mind playing tricks with you…_

He knew himself better than that, so it wasn’t shocking when he notices himself running towards her voice and halts as she comes to view.

“Arno, get down from there!” she calls.

“No. You made it quite clear you didn’t want me.”

“That’s not what I said…”

“That’s what it felt like. And that comment about my father? That was completely out of line.” He crosses his arms, in a failed attempt to seem stronger than he was really feeling.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Please… come down… We can’t talk while shouting at each other like that…”

Looking around, some curious people seemed rather interested in the event going around them. Getting annoyed by that, Arno slowly begins his descent.

“I’m sorry, Arno,” she says quietly once he’s close. “For everything I said. I love you. I want to marry you. Be a family. It’s just… I can’t trust anyone. Not even you.”

He sighs in annoyance. “Here we go again. We’ve had this conversation before, didn’t we?”

“It was different. I know how important it is for you.” She takes his hand, a move that makes him shiver for one second. “And _it is_ important to me, too. I guess it’s my turn to take a leap of faith of some sort.”

Arno leans in to hug her. Despite all the pain she has caused him, intentionally or not, he just can’t help it. He loves her. All of her, with all her flaws. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean what you said. And I understand it’s a huge sacrifice I’m asking you.”

“Then you better treat me well and worship me like I’m your queen,” she says, smiling.

“Don’t I do that already?” They both chuckle and let go of the hug. “Shall we go back inside?”

Élise nods, and they walk back to the notary’s office holding hands. Frederick and Madeleine don’t notice them together until they’re close, and it’s amusing to see the change in their disappointed frames.

“Have you finally come to your senses?” Weatherall asks and Élise nods. “Good girl. I have to say, I never expected you to marry anyone. Always thought you were too wild to settle down. No man could ever tame our Élise! But you’ve changed. You’ve matured. Oh there’s still that spark in you, we’ve seen it this afternoon!” The four of them laugh, the heaviness of the atmosphere immediately being lifted.

“And I wouldn’t have her any other way.”  Arno declares and kisses her on the forehead, earning a compassionate look from the older couple. “Alright, let me speak with the notary, hopefully he will forgive you your…fiery temper. Just wait here.”

A few minutes later, Arno returns in a rush, light steps and a huge smile across his face.

“We’re in luck, his next clients are late, and we can just go back in and get this over with.”

They all go back into the room, smiling. When Arno and Élise sit down they hold hands again, but the notary’s smile makes Élise almost angry again.

“I understand Mademoiselle is ready to sign the contract?”

“Yes, I am,” she replies dryly.

“Good. Here are the copies of the marriage contract again, please sign each copy and pass them to your witnesses for their signature.”

They follow the notary’s orders. “This wasn’t so complicated now, was it?” the notary continues. Arno instantly takes Élise’s hand again and tightens his grip around it, afraid of her reaction.

“Are we done here?” she asks angrily, and turns to Arno. ”I’m not feeling well, I want to go home.”

“Yes, that would be it. Here is your copy of the contract; the other copy will remain archived here.” The notary hands the contract to Arno, but Élise takes it from him first.

“Thank you, I will make sure this document is safe until we hand it in at the City Hall tomorrow.” She smiles ironically at the notary.

Arno holds back a laughter, and smiles apologetically. “Thank you for your patience.”

“These things can happen, Monsieur Dorian. And best of luck to you!”

Élise tries to come up with a reply but Arno stops her. “Élise, not now… Let’s just go home.”


	4. Wedding Bells

[ ** ** ](http://lawineee.tumblr.com/)

**September 11, 1794**

>   _Papa,_
> 
> _I meant to write earlier, but the last weeks were a true whirlwind of activity. I have the most wonderful news to share with you, news that I still can’t quite believe. I’ve been pinching myself several times, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming._
> 
> _I wrote in another letter, how Élise and I grew up to see each other as something more than siblings. And it’s with great joy that I announce to you that Élise is carrying our first child. If all goes well, we will welcome your grandson or your granddaughter in April of next year. I'll finally have my own family!_
> 
> _I know what you’re thinking right now: let me also announce that we are going to get married tomorrow! Everything happened so fast, I’m feeling a bit dizzy… I was already wishing to make Élise my wife sooner or later, I was just waiting for the right moment, but with the baby coming, we couldn’t possibly bring the shame of a child born out of wedlock to both our families._
> 
> _Papa, were you afraid when mama told you she was pregnant with me? Were you overjoyed? Did you ever doubt yourself and your capacity to love and protect your child? I fear for Élise’s life, and I fear for our child’s life. We resorted to flee and raise our family in a safer environment, as far away as possible from this hornets’ nest that is Paris. But rest assured, all of our children will know who you were, and who Monsieur de la Serre was. We will never deny our heritage, as this would be undoing all of the work that you have done._
> 
> _Today is one of those days when I miss you the most. I wish you were here to guide me, to offer me your words of wisdom, from a father to his son._ _You are always in my heart._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Arno_

* * *

It's four o'clock in the afternoon. The Café bursts with activity everywhere as the employees prepare everything for the following evening presentation, which would start in about two hours. A brand new play from Austria would take place, and so many connoisseurs and critics would be attending it. Everything has to be tidy and shiny or the Café’s reputation wouldn’t survive another night, especially since no buyer had been found yet.

Arno descends the stairs, earning attention from all the people who have learned to admire him as a leader. They begin clapping when they notice he's holding a few papers - which means he's leaving the paperwork for the wedding at the City Hall - but stop once he brings his index finger to his mouth and shushes them. "Élise is asleep" he warns.

They then return to their previous hurried work, only now the atmosphere in the Café is a slightly quieter rumbling.

Madeleine approaches him. "So, Monsieur Arno, is everything ready for the big day?" she asks with a broad grin.

"Yes, I believe so…suit? Check. Her dress and the flowers are ready?" She nods promptly. "Good! And the orchestra is booked, food, wine and ale are fully stocked and I'm about to deliver the paperwork. Anything I'm missing?"

She gives him a quizzical look. "Monsieur Arno… what about your wedding rings?"

Arno frowns. "The… wedding rings?"

"Yes Monsieur Arno, the rings! How could you possibly have forgotten the rings? You know Mademoiselle Élise would not like to hear that at all! She was so radiant whenever..."

The woman keeps talking on and on but Arno doesn’t hear a word. It seems everything around him was collapsing.

He has taken care of almost everything on his own, but he has managed to forget the most important thing.

The rings.

 _Fuck_.

He shoves the paperwork under his arm and takes off with a sprint.

* * *

The delivery of the paperwork at the City Hall was uneventful. The contract and the license were in order, and he could now concentrate on the task at hand: finding wedding rings, at the last possible minute. “I still can’t believe I forgot the damn rings”, he swears out loud. To his despair, most shops in the City were already closed for the day. He wanders through the streets of Paris, mentally preparing himself to explain why he couldn’t promise his eternal love to Élise with a ring. Like any decent groom would do.

And then he spots it, far down the street: a posh jewelry shop, with a sign ‘Open’ hanging on the door. He barges into the shop running, but the disgusted look on one of the sellers' face reminds him he’s not supposed to run around in such a place. Taking a deep breath, he slows down his pace and walks to the counter, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. Another seller approaches him with a slightly nice attitude.

“I need wedding rings.” He speaks quickly, his heart rate still too high for him to remember his manners inside a place full of cocky nobles who are sneering at him.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur…?”

“Dorian”

“What can I do for you, Monsieur Dorian?”

Already quite on edge, the unhurried demeanor of the seller is getting on Arno’s nerves. “I need wedding rings!” he repeats loudly.

“Of course. Very important. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding! When is the big day?”

Arno grimaces, slightly embarrassed. He hesitates before replying. “It’s… tomorrow.”

The seller’s face goes blank.

“I do carry a very small selection of rings in my store, but my clients usually place an order _well in advance_.”

Our groom sighs, his impatience growing.

“I understand, but nonetheless, _I need wedding rings. For tomorrow_.”

The jewelry seller opens a cabinet and shows a small display to Arno, of about a dozen of rings on a cushion.

“This is everything I have. Do you see anything?”

Arno wonders what Élise would like. Rubies, red like her hair? Emeralds, green like her eyes? Or a large diamond…No, he could never afford that. He hates himself for not thinking about it earlier, he could have saved more money... He starts to panic. They all look nice, but the price tags on some of them...

“I don’t know, I really don’t know…”

“Take your time…”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of time!” he almost shouts, earning the attention and angry glances from everyone inside the shop.

He spots the rings with sapphires. The smaller ring, obviously for her, has the stones arranged like petals of a flower, with tiny diamonds around it. The bigger ring, for him, has one big sapphire with 2 diamonds on each side.

Arno points at these rings. “How about these… with the sapphires?”

“Great choice.” He takes the rings out of the display and puts them on the counter. “The pair costs 3000 livres, Monsieur.”

Arno chokes. That much? He only has 2500 on him. But they are so beautiful… and he’s certain Élise would love hers. He gives the seller his best smile. “Could we agree on 2500 livres?”

“No, Monsieur. 3000 is the price.”

Arno loses it. He needs those rings. “Please, _please_. I’m in a very difficult situation. This wedding wasn’t planned, and then I had to travel to England, and then I forgot to buy the rings, and I just cannot show up at the City Hall tomorrow without rings. You don’t know my future wife -- _she will kill me_. And I only have 2500 on me. Please, _help me_.” He talks too quickly and the seller looks confused. But then he sighs and nods.

“All right, I’ll sell them to you for 2500. It’s better for me to sell them than to keep them in this cabinet at the risk of getting them stolen.”

Arno sighs in relief and has to hold back a few tears of relief and joy. “Thank you so much, so, so much.”

The man puts the rings in a small box and hands it to Arno, who reluctantly hands in all of his cash. “Good luck tomorrow, Monsieur Dorian!”

Arno puts the box in his chest pocket and leaves the store as quickly as he came in. Élise must be awake now, and she’s going to wonder why it's taking him so long to just deliver some paperwork.

* * *

**September 12, 1794**

The coldness around Arno feels uncanny. He looks up to make sure Élise isn’t just a bit further, or if either of them fell off during the night, but the bed is really all his.

“Élise, my love?” he calls out. “Where are you?”

Upon getting no response, he gets up slowly and walks around his room. He yawns several times while doing so, but one of the yawns is cut in half when he sees her sitting on the floor with a hand on her belly, looking pale.

“Élise!” He kneels beside her and takes her in his arms. “What is wrong? How do you feel?”

She smiles faintly at his concern. “Nothing, I’m just a bit sick...”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Just…” she pulls his arms away a little. Her hands are cold. “Let go of me.”

Once he does, she feels less constricted and relaxes. Arno stays by her side, often caressing her cheek and her hair just to keep her aware of his presence. He can’t help but feel completely useless, not having an ounce of a clue of what he’s supposed to do to make her feel better. How long was she going to feel sick? Weeks? Months? Will they be able to travel at all?

They stay like that for a few minutes, while Élise calms down. When the nausea is gone, she begins to doze off -- the night had been short and her sleep unrestful. Arno takes her in his arms and carries her to the bed, then puts her down and kisses her forehead. “I thought we’d only do that later and it’d have a completely different ending” he whispers, chuckling. He puts some clothes on and goes down to the Café.

The preparations for the wedding had already begun, and every employee was focused on getting everything ready. The props from the play were still on the stage, but while the theater company still hadn’t come around to pick them up, everyone else had thousands of little things to take care of. Unlike other masters, Arno had seen no problem in letting his employees enjoy the party as well, so they had an extra reason to make sure everything was perfect other than the possibility of getting fired. Also, to make sure closing the Café down and hiring an orchestra wasn’t in vain, family members and friends of the employees had been allowed to join the celebrations. Yes, it was _their_ wedding, but the groom and the bride hated that sort of vanity with a passion and were hoping for everyone to just have a good time.

Madeleine conducts everyone like a maestro, while Frederick just sits and watches all the agitation around him. He feels useless for not helping, but what could he do, really? He has no idea how decorations work, cuisine wasn’t his specialty and he has a hard time just moving around on his own. Unless someone decides to have a duel in the middle of the party, his only function that day would be as a witness, and he was a few hours away from that.

So he just watches. And so he notices Arno running downstairs.

“Madeleine!” he calls. “Our boy is early. And in a rush.”

“Good morning Mr. Weatherall,” says Arno cheerfully.

“Oh come on, we’re practically family now, aren’t we? Really, call me Freddie…” the old man says grumpily.

“Good morning Freddie,” he repeats, patting his shoulder.

They are joined by Madeleine looking flustered and carrying a tray of ginger tea and dry bread. She has an important role to play today, several roles even: not only was she Arno’s witness -- something a woman of her rank would have never dreamed of doing for her master -- but she had to ensure the flawless execution of the preparations for the evening’s reception. And ensure Élise is the most beautiful bride of Paris this afternoon. And entertain her fellow witness, she presumes. She blushes at the thought. Arno interrupts her reflections. “Madeleine, how is everything going?”

“I think I have everything under control,” she says, looking around her. “Here’s some ginger tea and some bread for Mademoiselle Élise. I’ve overhead you two talking this morning, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear! But a lady I met at the market the other day was saying ginger tea is very good when a woman with child is feeling a bit queasy, so I thought…”

Arno smiles warmly, taking the tray from her arms. “Very good idea, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Let me bring it to her. Also, could you send hot water upstairs? I need to get ready, and there’s still a lot to do here.”

“I’ll be right with you,” Madeleine says, already making her way to the kitchen. Arno is left behind with the tray in his hands. He looks at Weatherall. “I’ll be back shortly. While the women will get ready, we can finalize all operations here,” he says with a wink.

Weatherall chuckles. “There’s not much I can do to help, but I’ll keep an eye on things!”

Upstairs, Arno finds Élise lying in bed, awake and with a little bit more color on her cheeks than earlier this morning, but looking slightly gloomy. _Will ever find out what’s going on in that head and that heart of hers?_ he wonders. He puts the tray on the table and sits on the edge of the bed. “Madeleine is sending you ginger tea and some bread. She says ginger tea is good when you’re feeling sick. You should try eating a bit too. It’s going to be a long day today…”

“Thank you, I will,” she says, barely acknowledging his presence.

Madeleine arrives a few minutes later with Faustine in her track, carrying buckets of hot water for Arno to bathe.

“Will you need anything else?” Madeleine asks the future married couple.

“No Madeleine, I think we’re fine for now. Thank you," Arno answers after casting a side look at Élise. As he undresses and sinks in the hot bath, Élise eats slowly and watches the steam rising up to the ceiling like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Actually, she's not paying attention at all. She's terrified of what her future will be from this day onwards. Of course, Arno is the best husband she could ever hope for, but was she really meant for a domestic, married life? Being raised to be a Grand Master, a fighter, she knew how to defend herself from anyone, sure. But she had no idea what she was supposed to do in a kitchen, or how to take care of children. How long until Arno’s patience runs out? The possibility of him getting fed up with her existed -- after all he hadn't tasted anything she cooked yet. They were to be married within a few hours. And the baby is coming, whether she ever comes around to idea or not. She doesn’t have a choice: she just has to face her new destiny and hope for the best. She plucks at her bread, taking tiny bites, thankful that the ginger tea helped calm down her upset stomach. _I’ll have to ask Madeleine how the tea is made; I’ll have to make it for myself soon_. She sighs.

She is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice Arno standing next to her looking dapper in his new suit, with shiny buttons on his coat and a sparkling white shirt, his shoes perfectly polished. Upon seeing him her heart melts. The same way her heart melted when she saw him in her father’s suit the evening of her introduction to the Templar Knighthood. She might still be unsure about her future, and about her capacities as a wife and a mother, but there is no doubt in her mind: she wouldn’t want to spend the rest of her days on Earth with anyone else than him. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach taking flight. Smiling broadly, her hands then fly to her mouth to stifle a cry. “My my, aren’t you looking smart in your new suit! Let me see you!” She hops off the bed to circle around him, brushing off invisible dust off his shoulders just as an excuse to touch him. “And you even shaved. I’m impressed. Big day today?” she adds with a smirk, running her fingers along his chin.

He takes her by the shoulders to pull her close. “Today, you are becoming my wife. I might as well make a tiny effort to be worthy of your eternal love!” He kisses her quickly before whispering in her ear. “I can’t wait for tonight. We’ll finally be legally allowed to share a bed.”

She chuckles, her eyes twinkling. “I get the idea you want to celebrate that?”

“Uh-huh.” he replies with a smile before stealing one more kiss from her lips.

There’s a discreet knock on the doorway behind them. Madeleine and Faustine are back with more hot water. While Faustine works on emptying the tub, Madeleine rushes towards Arno, and pushes him out of the room. “You can’t stay here, Monsieur Arno. We have to help the bride get ready! And you cannot see her dress before the wedding, it brings bad luck!” Blowing her a kiss, Arno casts one last look at Élise, who returns his kiss.

“Mademoiselle, do you need any help with undressing and bathing?” Faustine asks in a faint voice. She’s not accustomed to address Élise directly, as she’s usually confined to the kitchen, and she finds all the commotion surrounding the wedding quite intimidating.

“If you can just hand me a clean chemise from the linen chest and prepare everything else,” Élise replies with a warm smile. The young girl nods and turns her heels, doing promptly as she was told. Meanwhile, Madeleine makes sure the tub is filled with fresh water and adds few drops of rose oil.

After undressing, Élise immerses herself in the tub, savoring the contact of hot water on her skin and the sweet aroma of roses filling her nostrils. She feels the tension in her muscles loosen.

When she finishes bathing, Madeleine hands her a towel. “I stopped using lavender oil, as you asked, Mademoiselle Élise. I hope the smell of orange blossom will not be offending to you.”

“Not so far,” Élise says with a smile.

“What shall we do with your hair?” Madeleine asks, plucking at Élise’s red locks. The steam from the hot tub had made her hair curlier and created tiny ringlets around her face.

Élise steps towards the mirror to look at her reflection, while Madeleine arranges her hair in various ways to help her decide. “I really wouldn’t know, Madeleine. Pinned up, I suppose. I prefer my hair loose, but I can make an exception on my wedding day!”

“Up it is. You’ll be the prettiest of all brides, don’t worry!” declares the older woman.

While Faustine helps Élise put on her undergarments, Madeleine arranges combs, brushes, and pins on the small table next to the chair. “Faustine, can you fetch the flowers for me please? And the ribbons. And then go get the dress please.”

Élise sits on the chair facing the balcony, a bit apprehensive. She completely trusts Madeleine, but she still feels intimidated by all these frivolous and womanly things such as flowers and ribbons. And dresses. Sitting with a straight back, eyes closed, she patiently waits for Madeleine to be done, occasionally wincing if her hair was being pulled, tugged at, or twisted.

“And now for the finishing touches… voilà! Oh you look so lovely, so lovely! Monsieur Arno is one lucky man...” Madeleine says, contemplating her chef-d’oeuvre.

"Mademoiselle?" Faustine taps Élise’s shoulder lightly. "Would you like to see your dress now?"

Her dress. She entrusted Madeleine to find her a dress not even 2 weeks ago, and she still had no idea what it looked like. “Yes, of course!” Élise says.

“Close your eyes!” Madeleine says cheerfully behind her. She closes her eyes, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “All right, turn around…” Faustine takes Élise by the shoulders to turn her around. “... and open your eyes!”

And there it was: her wedding dress, lying on the bed. Her eyes instantly fill with tears -- tears of joy. It was the most beautiful dress she could have ever wished for. It was made of ivory silk satin, with a white lace overlay encrusted with pearls that extended in a long train at the back, and had short sleeves. A bottle green velvet belt was cinching the waist just below the bust line. The dress came with long ivory satin gloves and matching shoes ornate with a small green velvet bow. Next to the dress was a bouquet of red roses, tied with a green satin ribbon. She was speechless.

“And? What do you think?” Madeleine presses, holding the dress up.

“I don’t know what to say! It’s beautiful…” she says, wiping her tears from her cheeks. “I just hope it will fit!”

Madeleine laughs, laying the dress back on the bed. “Nonsense, Mademoiselle Élise! I had the tailor use one of your dresses for the measurements and you haven’t been eating anything the past weeks, you can’t have gained any weight at all! And it’s the new fashion, look: it’s falling loose at the waist. No one will ever know...”

“Thank you, thank you so much, Madeleine!” Élise says, hugging her tightly.

“No need to thank me, Mademoiselle. I just did my work, nothing more. Now let’s get you in that dress quickly, or we’re going to be late!”

The maids hustle and bustle around Élise, straightening a seam here or there, tugging at the train to loosen it, buttoning the dress, tying the belt in a large bow. Satisfied with their work, they hand Élise her bouquet, and lead her to the mirror.

The bride’s mouth opens in disbelief as she can barely recognize herself. Her hair is pinned up and tied with a green ribbon, with roses arranged like a crown, some loose curls falling down over her neck and shoulders. Her dress fits her like a glove, the low round neckline showcasing the curve of her breasts, the belt emphasizing the narrowness of her natural waist, and the skirt sweeping over her hips. No make-up, no jewelry, just her natural beauty shining through. She checks herself from all angles, still not believing she’s looking at her own reflection. “If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d think I’m seeing my mother in the mirror...” she says, her eyes fill with tears again.

Madeleine rubs her shoulders to comfort her. “I don’t know your mother, but I’m certain she was very beautiful. But so are you, Mademoiselle Élise. So are you.”

“Madeleine, shouldn’t you be getting ready too?” Élise inquires while drying her eyes.

“Child, you are right! I’ll meet you at the top of the staircase in a few minutes!” Madeleine replies while grabbing her skirts to sprint to her own chambers.

Élise turns to Faustine, who was standing in the background, and takes her hand. “Thank you, Faustine. You’ve been a great help today. Arno and I will make sure to tell the new Café owners, whoever they are, that they can count on you. You deserve more than being stuck in the kitchen all day.”

The young girl blushes and quickly curtsies. “It’s been an honor, Mademoiselle Élise. I’ll never forget this day. And I’ll never forget you, and Monsieur Arno of course.”

Élise sighs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone while Madeleine gets ready. I just… need to think.”

Faustine bows. “As you wish, Mademoiselle. Just give me a shout if you need me!” she says quickly before leaving with quiet, yet hurried footsteps.

* * *

Meanwhile, Arno sits at their favorite table by the window, looking at the busy street, feeling rather nervous. The world kept on turning while a storm roared on his mind. Today is going to be the greatest day in his life, but by contrast, it’s just another day in everyone else's lives. He kept his mind occupied with thoughts that just wouldn't leave it, hoping the hours would pass by quickly. He takes the box containing the rings out of his pocket and opens it. “Wait until you hear the story of those rings, Élise. I sure hope you’re going to like yours!” he says out loud to himself, smiling.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be talking to yourself?” asks Weatherall, who plops down on the chair in front of Arno. “Getting nervous, son?”

“A bit. I’ve dreamed of this day so many times. I still can’t believe it, everything happened so fast,” Arno confides, closing the box and putting it back in his chest pocket.

“That’s what you get when you put the cart before the horse.”

Arno blushes. “Yes, I… well, we… I… I suppose it’s my fault. We… I… didn’t think about what could happen.” It was as much her fault as it was his, but he preferred to avoid all confrontation and took the blame on himself.

“She could have become so much more. But now, thanks to your carelessness, her bright future has vanished. Forever. I hope you realize it, son. I hope you realize it,” he admonishes, pointing his finger at Arno.

Arno leans back on his chair, staring sternly at his table companion. “Mr. Weatherall -- Freddie, yes, I realize it very well. I also know that life is never kind. Life is never just a simple journey that you can plan from your birth to your death. Yes, Élise was promised to a great future. However, this doesn’t mean that by becoming a mother rather than a Templar Grand Master, she can’t make a difference in this world or shape the future of this country. By raising our children to become the best they can be, she will ensure they have a bright future too. And God only knows what these children will be capable of.”

“I suppose you’re right. But you have to understand the immense amount of time and efforts several people have put into giving her all the tools she needed to follow in her father’s footsteps. Seeing it all going to waste is rather… unbearable. To me, it feels like I’ve failed François. And most of all, I’ve failed Julie,” Weatherall says, his voice breaking.

“And all of these concerted efforts made her the person she is now. Incredibly smart, absolutely fearless. A strong, independent young woman I admire tremendously. Our children will be raised to hold the same qualities and values as their mother. And Freddie, I _love_ her. With all my heart, with all my soul. I will never clip her wings. I will never allow her to wither away. For as long as I shall live, I will protect her, I will protect our children, I will provide for them, and I will make sure they flourish,” Arno promises, measuring his words by tapping the table with his finger.

Weatherall extends his hand over the table for Arno to shake it. “All right, son. You’ve convinced this old man. But if ever, _ever_ hear that she’s unhappy, I will hunt you down and kick your sorry ass, even if I have just one leg!”

They both burst out in laughter and shake hands. “Thank you, Freddie, your approval means a lot to me.”

“Now, where is the bride and Madeleine, we have to leave soon… Women, always late!”

Seconds later, Faustine is standing next to their table, smiling. “Monsieur Arno, Mademoiselle Élise is ready. She’s waiting for you by the staircase.”

Arno looks at Weatherall. “Shall we?”

He wants nothing more than run to go see his bride, but leaving Weatherall behind would be impolite -- and he still had manners. With a hand on Freddie’s back, they both make their way to the staircase over the Café floor.

They stopped in their tracks as they turned around the doorway, mouths agape, and eyes agog. There she was, at the top of the staircase, a gloved hand holding the railing, the other holding her bouquet. Meeting Arno’s gaze, she slowly makes her way down the stairs, the train of her dress trailing behind.

“And? What do you think?” she asks with a broad grin.

For a moment, Arno is speechless -- his dark eyes taking in all the details of her dress and of her hair, and being naturally drawn to the freckles on her skin, and the soft, ivory curve of her breasts. “I don’t know what to say… besides that you are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen -- and rather pleased that you are _my_ bride!” he says laughing, pulling her close for a kiss.

“You young people will have plenty of time for all this after the ceremony, we better get going,” Weatherall grumbles, rolling his eyes. Élise reaches out to hug him tightly. “You look beautiful, child. Just like your mother,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Now if you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany my fellow witness to the coach,” he adds, leaving Élise’s embrace and offering his arm to Madeleine. Blushing, she accepts it. The maid was wearing a delicately embroidered scarf around her shoulders, over a simple, yet elegant blue brocade dress. Her hair was loosely tied behind her head. Her apparel was still in sharp contrast with the lavish clothing her company was wearing, but she was too excited to be a witness at the ceremony to really care.

* * *

Several onlookers were gathered by the entrance of the City Hall. The word was out that an important wedding was about to be celebrated, but no one could actually name the bride and groom with certainty. The most ludicrous rumors were circulating, including one involving a member of some obscure foreign royal family marrying a commoner.

As the coach rolled by, Arno scrutinized the crowd, his eyes and ears peeled for any irregularities. They had been careful not to leak too much information regarding their upcoming wedding, but they knew preventing any leak at all was impossible, the size of the crowd waiting for them seemingly confirming their worst fear.

“When we are by the entrance of the City Hall, I’ll get off the coach. You all stay inside and wait for me. We’ll get you through another entrance, but I need to make sure it’s secure first,” he orders. Sensing her uneasiness, he takes Élise’s hand and squeezes it gently. “We’ll be fine, my love.”

“I just wish I had my dagger with me, why didn’t I think of it?” Élise says, sighing in frustration. She looks at Arno. “Oh let me guess, you don’t have any weapons with you either? Brilliant. I guess I can always hit someone with these. The thorns could probably poke someone’s eye,” she says examining her bouquet from all angles.

He hated himself for not bringing his blade or any weapon for that matter, but hearing his fiery Élise plotting about poking someone’s eye with her bridal bouquet made him laugh out loud. And soon both Weatherall and Madeleine joined him in laughter.

“What's so funny?” she asks, rather miffed.

“Nothing. Just… nothing.” His smile instantly vanished. They had arrived by the main entrance and it was time to go back to serious business. “I’ll be right back,” he says, hopping off the coach.

The crowd was sizeable, but calm, and no one had attempted yet to approach the coach. After what felt like an eternity, Arno is back, opening the coach door to jump back in. “I’ll tell the coachman to take you to the back entrance, via a detour through the side streets. Hopefully no one will try to follow the coach. In any case, I’ll be waiting for you over there.” He kisses Élise quickly before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Élise’s senses are on high alert. Even in her condition, even without any sort of weapon, she feels responsible for her fellow passengers’ security, and she will defend them with her life. She scans the passers-by in the streets, looking for anyone behaving suspiciously. When they arrive at the back entrance, she is pleased to see no one appears to have followed them. As he promised, Arno is waiting by a pillar, his eyes surveying the surroundings. Judging it’s safe enough, he walks to the coach and opens the door swiftly, giving Élise a hand to help her get off, while she holds her flowers and her train with her other hand.

Madeleine is the next to get off, followed by Weatherall. “Son, don’t wait for us. Take Élise inside where she’ll be safe. We’ll be right with you!”

Nodding, Arno takes Élise by the shoulder and leads her through the back door. They both sigh deeply in relief when they find themselves in the central hall. “Our days in Paris are counted. We can’t live like that, always on edge,” he says, his eyes still scanning and surveying.

They are rejoined by their witnesses, Madeleine unable to hide the fear in her eyes, and Weatherall looking concerned.

Élise looks at her old advisor. “Freddie, do you understand now why we need to flee? This is… this is not the life we want for our children.”

He raises his hand to stop her. “No need to insist. I understand.”

Arno takes his father’s watch from his pocket to check the time. “It’s five minutes past four o’ clock. We better move along. I’ve already announced us; they are probably waiting for us inside the room. Right this way.”

The civil servant who issued the marriage license is waiting by the door, tapping impatiently with his foot. “You are late, Monsieur. The mayor is not going to be pleased.”

They follow the civil servant inside the room. A few dozens of chairs are arranged in rows across the room, obviously destined for the guests of the bride and groom. At the back of the room, in front of a large window covered with heavily decorated curtains, is a large table, with 5 chairs disposed around it: one large throne-like chair for the mayor on one side, two smaller chairs on the other side for the bride and groom, and two much simpler chairs for the witnesses. They all take their respective seats. The servant is puzzled. “No guests, Monsieur?”

Arno stares at him, a serious look on his face. “No. No guests. We were hoping to keep this wedding celebration a secret by not publishing the banns, but judging from the crowd that is gathered outside, I guess someone leaked the information.”

The civil servant holds Arno’s without flinching. “This is Paris. Nothing can ever stay a secret. Especially when it involves one of the most infamous names in France.”

Arno clenches his fists, his blood starting to boil. Was the civil servant working for the Templars after all? By allowing the information to be leaked, he was already failing to protect Élise and their child, and he would never forgive himself if... Élise puts her hand on his arm, her relatively calm gaze contrasting with his stormy eyes. “Arno, no. Not now. It’s too late anyway.” His only answer is to take her hand in his and hold it tightly.

They are interrupted by the mayor entering the room. Dressed in his ceremonious apparel, he is carrying the civil register under his arm. They all rise to their feet, waiting for him to sit and lay the register on the table.

“Please, have a seat,” he orders. With a clatter, they all sit down. “Good. We are late, so let’s begin.”

The mayor begins by reciting articles from the civil code, pertaining to fidelity, raising children and the spouses’ respective contribution to the household. Still holding Élise’s hand, Arno starts to breathe easier, the low and monotonous voice of the mayor appeasing his furor against the civil servant. _I’m marrying the love of my life!_ is all he has on his mind. He looks in Élise’s direction, who is listening earnestly to the mayor.

“I suppose a contract was signed, Monsieur Dorian?” the mayor asks.

Hearing his name jolt Arno back to reality. “Yes, it should be…” He casts a side look to the civil servant before continuing. “The contract was duly delivered yesterday, and I expect your assistant will hand it to you immediately.”

The two men stare at each other for a moment, before the servant indeed produces the contract from one of his pockets, and hands it to the mayor, who quickly inspects it. “Everything seems to be in order then. We can proceed. Please rise.”

“You can still run away,” Arno whispers in Élise’s ear as they get off their chair.

She chuckles. “I don’t want to run away.”

“Quiet please,” orders the civil servant.

“Monsieur Arno Victor Dorian, do you consent to take Mademoiselle Élise de la Serre for your spouse?” the mayor asks solemnly.

Taking both her hands and staring deeply into her eyes, Arno doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, I do,” he answers promptly, his voice choking up with emotion.

“Mademoiselle Élise de la Serre, do you consent to take Monsieur Arno Victor Dorian for your spouse?”

Arno holds his breath, half-expecting to hear her say no. “Yes, I do,” Élise answers, smiling warmly and holding his gaze despite the tears pricking her eyes.

Overcome with joy, Madeleine lets out a loud sob. On the other side, Weatherall is sniffling discreetly, swallowing back a tear or two.

“Monsieur, can I have the rings, please?” the mayor asks.

Casting a side look at Madeleine, Arno reaches inside his coat and pulls the small box from his chest pocket, and hands it to the mayor, while Élise removes her gloves and places them neatly next to her flowers on the table. Taking the rings out of the box, the mayor first hands Élise’s ring to Arno. He takes the hand she was holding out for him, and puts the ring on her finger, his own hands shaking in nervousness, anxiously awaiting her reaction. Upon seeing her ring, she gasps, her other hand covering her mouth in surprise. “Arno, it’s perfect!”

He sighs in relief. “I’ll have to tell you the story of those rings, one day…”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” she says chuckling lightly, taking Arno’s ring from the hand of the mayor, and putting it on Arno’s finger with unsteady hands.

The mayor clears his throat. “Now, I would like to ask the bride, the groom and their respective witnesses the sign the register”, he says, handing the quill to Élise. Taking turns -- first Élise, then Arno, and then Weatherall and Madeleine -- they sign the register, officially sealing their union.

As she watches the others put their signature in the register, Élise is lost in her thoughts. _This is it. Élise de la Serre is dead, long live Madame Arno Dorian_. She swallows the lump in her throat and takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. She won’t let her anxiety take over. Later maybe, but not now. The civil servant’s voice brings her back to reality. “Will the bride and groom please rise!”

Gaze locked on each other, they stand up to their feet.

“You are now officially husband and wife, congratulations! Monsieur, you may kiss the bride!” says the mayor cheerfully.

Putting his hand on her hip, Arno pulls Élise close and kisses her softly, pouring all the love he felt for her into his kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs. _Oh Arno, you always know how to make my heart melt_ , she thinks to herself. “I love you too,” she replies with a genuine, heartfelt smile.

The witnesses glance at each other - Madeleine is wiping her tears with her scarf, and Weatherall is trying to keep up appearances. A man cannot cry. Even when if his would-be daughter just got married.

* * *

Holding Élise’s hand firmly, his eyes vigilantly looking all around for any potential enemies lurking in the shadows, Arno leads his bride and their witnesses back to the coach via the back entrance. The thoughts in his mind are racing. His first priority is to bring everyone back to the Café safely, but the joy in his heart is distracting him from his main task. It doesn’t help that he can’t take his eyes off Élise, still not quite believing he can finally call her his wife.

The crowds had dispersed and no direct threat could be detected, and the journey back to the Café was quiet and uneventful. Upon entering the Café courtyard, several members of staff are standing by the fountain, merrily throwing grains of wheat at the newlyweds, and music from the small orchestra could be heard through the open doors and windows.

“You know throwing wheat is supposed to encourage fertility, right?” Arno asks Élise with a playful smile.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh great. More babies!” she groans, returning his smile.

Taking her by the waist, he captures her lips for a kiss, drawing loud cheers from everyone around them. “I never said we’d stop after one,” he whispers in her ear.

“Neither did I,” she says uncertainly, the perspective of raising a large family with him by her side both daunting and appealing at the same time.

“Let’s go inside,” Arno calls loudly.

They are the first to walk into the Café, where they are welcomed by the loud hand-clapping of the rest of the staff and their families. An area next to the stage had been kept clear to allow for dancing later on that evening. Arno and Élise walk towards the middle of the empty dance floor, still holding hands, as everyone gathers around them.

Arno clears his throat. “I would just like to say, thank you. Thank you for making this special day even more special with all your hard work. Élise and I will never forget this day, and we’ll certainly never forget you. There’s plenty of food, plenty of wine, and we hope you’ll all have a great time this evening!”

One by one, the employees come to the newlyweds to offer their congratulations, some even bringing modest gifts. Their first reaction was to refuse them, but they quickly understood these gifts were just their way of showing them how thankful they were and how much they respected their master.

Meanwhile, Weatherall and Madeleine watch them curiously from the head table. Resting his chin on his hand, Weatherall is melancholic. “Time certainly few by. It feels just like yesterday that I attended François and Julie’s wedding as a guest… and now here I am, a witness at their daughter’s own wedding. I’m sorry, Madeleine, I should stop bringing the past into all of my conversations, I must be boring you with my old man’s ramblings.”

“Sir Freddie, don’t apologize to me. I don’t know who Mademoiselle Él… pardon me, _Madame_ Élise’s parents are, and I’ve only got to know her very recently. Every time you talk about her parents, I like to think I get to know Madame Élise a bit better. I’m so sad she and Monsieur Arno are going to leave Paris, I never thought I’d ever say this, Sir Freddie, but I’m going to miss my masters! My late husband left me alone with our children, who are all grown up and married now.” She pauses, her cheeks turning red, fidgeting with a fold of her skirt. “And I find your stories fascinating, Sir Freddie. We are from completely different worlds, that much is true. I am not well-spoken like you. I never saw outside of Paris. But it pleases me that you are sharing these stories with me, a simple servant.”

Weatherall smiles heartily. He cannot lie; he is thoroughly enjoying Madeleine’s company. “Then I’m looking forward to sharing more stories this evening. Tongues are bound to get looser if the wine gets flowing…”

“Wine sounds like an excellent idea,” Arno says, holding Élise’s chair for her to sit, before sitting on his own chair and reaching for the bottle on the table. He pours wine in everyone’s glass, hesitating a second before filling Élise’s. “Are you going to drink wine tonight, my love?”

“If that one doesn’t make me gag…” she replies, grimacing at the thought.

Suddenly, the sound of knives tapping on glasses could be heard throughout the Café, urging the newlyweds to kiss. They both awkwardly rise to their feet, giggling and smiling, staring in each other’s eyes before joining lips for a slow kiss, his arms coiled around her, one hand falling to the small of her back, the other cupping the back of her head.


	5. Not A Blushing Bride (E)

[Union](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/art/Union-543073821) by [ForeverFallen16](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/)

**September 12, 1794**

It’s getting late, close to midnight. Save for a few exceptions, the employees and their party have already left, and the orchestra has just announced their last music piece for the evening. The bride and groom and their witnesses are sitting at their table, where the wine had been flowing generously.

Seizing his last and only chance for a dance, Arno stands to his feet with his hand extended. “Shall we dance, Madame?” he says with a broad grin.

She returns his smile. “Do you even know how to dance, Monsieur?” she asks while accepting his hand and getting up, adjusting the train of her dress.  

He kisses her hand softly. “I was hoping you would show me. Besides, there’s no one else but us here.”

“You’re forgetting our dutiful witnesses at the table! And there’s the orchestra, and everyone else still working at the Café in our honor this evening!” she says, chuckling.

He pulls her close with both hands on the small of her back. “In my mind, it's just us tonight,” he whispers in a low voice. She reaches behind her back to take his hands in hers. “Follow me, then…”

She leads him to the middle of the empty dance floor, her eyes never leaving his. “Let’s begin with something easy. You take my hand in yours, like so…” He grips her left hand with his own, his eyes questioning if he was doing it correctly. “... and then we just walk around each other, like so…” she continues, nodding in approval. Her long train trails behind her as they step around each other in a circle. “And then we switch hands… oops careful there!” she exclaims as he steps on her train.

His cheeks turn bright red, embarrassed by his clumsiness. “I didn’t ruin your dress, did I?”

After a quick visual verification, she smiles reassuringly. “No, don’t worry. Just watch out where you put your feet!”

“But Madame, I’m distracted by my gorgeous wife in her beautiful wedding dress that’s showing off all of her best assets...” he pouts, his hand reaching out to touch her waist, his thumb barely brushing against her breast. He wasn’t lying. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her, from the moment she appeared at the top of the staircase in her wedding dress and a bouquet of red roses in her hands. And right now, in the low lighting of the Café, the wine clouding his judgment and removing all of his inhibitions, he only wants one thing: her.

She smiles coyly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Monsieur! Shall we continue?” Turning to face him, she takes both his hands in hers. “Step back, 1, 2, and step forward, 1, 2…” The sweet scent of the roses in her hair was leaving an intoxicating trail at each of her steps. “You’re doing great,” she says softly, their lips almost touching, before taking another step back.

“I have the best teacher, Madame!” he says, suddenly pulling her close to him, nuzzling her hair and breathing in her perfume. “I want you, I can’t resist you…” he murmurs, his hand pressing on the small of her back, before sliding lower to feel the roundness of her bottom.

She gives him a lewd look. “This move is not allowed, Monsieur, and you are standing too close…”

“I want to be closer... “Taking her hand, he leads her out of the dance floor and towards the furthest booth, away from prying eyes. He sits comfortably at the far end and pulls her up to sit crosswise on his lap, her back facing the Café area. Unable to wait a single second more, he presses his lips on hers with force, taking possession of her mouth. Her initial reaction is to raise her hands in protest, but soon she is melting under his kiss, abandoning all resistance.

His hand slides under the skirt of her dress, pulling it up as he makes his way further up her leg, uncovering her white silk stockings and denuding her thigh. She moans at the contact of his warm hand on her bare skin, his thumb gently caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

His lips travel to her neck and her chest, leaving sloppy open-mouth kisses on the exposed flesh of her sensitive breasts, sending a tingling sensation right down to her core. His eyes are burning with desire. “Do you have any idea what you are doing to me? I want you, badly... It's been too long... I want to kiss you, and I want to settle between your strong Templar thighs…”

His hand slides further up under her dress, making her gasp as his thumb finds her hard little button, hidden between her damp, soft curls, rubbing it gently. She opens her legs and tilts her hips slightly, granting him access, but then clamps her thighs tightly on his hand with a cheeky smile.

“You know, Assassin, I once almost strangled a man with those Templar thighs of mine as you call them?”

He chuckles. “Did you? Impressive. I better be careful then..." He takes a few bites of her plump breasts, making her whimper and writhe on his lap, her thigh grinding on his erection. He lets out a low growl and in retaliation, increases the pressure of his thumb on her clit. She releases his hand and spreads her legs as far as her dress allows it, surrendering to his touch. "I want to taste you... I want to get drunk on your juices and feel you quiver under my tongue…” he whispers in her ear, his thumb rubbing faster. “And then I want to get inside of you and go deep, hard, and fast, just the way you like it…”

She gives him a quick playful smile, moaning in anticipation. The combination of his raspy voice whispering dirty words in her ear, the arousal from their earlier dance and the illicitness of the situation was driving the build-up of her orgasm at lightning speed. She was thankful the music was covering her moans and her heavy breathing, but he wasn't missing a second of it, noticing the slightest of her reactions to his touch.

“You're almost coming, aren't you?” he asks, nibbling at her neck.

She nods, unable to speak, loud throaty moans escaping her lips, her hips grinding against his hand.

“Look at me, Élise. I want to see your eyes when you come for me.” His tone is firm and commanding, his fingers digging in her flesh of her thigh, his thumb further insisting.

She tries to obey, but her eyelids flutter at her approaching orgasm and she is struggling to keep her eyes open.

With his free hand he takes her chin, turning her face towards his. “Eyes on me, I said. Open your eyes, look at me.”

With squinted dazy eyes, she stares into his dark gaze as her orgasm strikes. At this precise moment, the music stops, her cry echoing throughout the Café. He captures her lips to muzzle her, the awkwardness of the situation making them giggle in each other’s mouth. For an instant, they are 10 years old again, laughing accomplices to some petty mischief. Breaking the kiss, she tilts her head to rest it on his shoulder, waiting for her breathing to settle down.

“That's my naughty girl,’ he murmurs.

“ _You_ are the naughtiest.” Her hand flies to cover her mouth, suddenly realizing Weatherall and Madeleine were still sitting at their table nearby. “Do you think they heard me?” she asks, her eyes wide open in panic.

“I think passersby in the streets 3 blocks from here heard you…” he teases.

Her cheeks turn to crimson and she buries her face in his neck. “I don't think I can ever face Frederick again…”

He pulls her head up to kiss her lips. His eyes are dark and more lustful than ever. “Let's continue upstairs. I'm not done with you... I'm far from being done fucking my wife tonight…”

“That whole obligation of intimacy thing, right?” she asks, smiling and poking her tongue between her teeth.

He nods and seizes her lower lip with his teeth. “You are obligated to nothing. However, it has been three weeks, and I've worked up quite an appetite. You better be ready.”

“Believe me, the appetite is mutual,” she says reaching for his crotch, making him groan.

She pulls her dress down, carefully getting up on her feet, throwing the train of her dress over her arm. Following her closely, conscious he cannot hide his desire for her, they walk up to their witnesses. As they approach the head table, Élise is struck by a fit of the giggles upon coming face to face with Weatherall.

“Thank you both for playing such a big part on our wedding day. We’ll never forget that,” Arno says, holding Élise close to him, silently praying she would stop laughing.

Madeleine smiles warmly. “Oh don’t mention it, Monsieur Arno, it’s been an honor!”

Weatherall is staring at the young couple standing in front of him, noticing their flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and what looks like bite marks on Élise’s chest. “Did you hear that noise, like a mewling, just moments before…?”

“Noise…?” Élise manages to say between giggles.

“Must have been a stray cat, there are plenty in the streets of Paris…” Arno answers quickly, trying to place a hand over Élise’s mouth to silence her.

“I suppose…” says Weatherall, raising an eyebrow.

Arno pushes Élise forward, motioning her to walk. “We’re… we’re going to our room.”

“Of course you are,” teases Weatherall with a wink.

“We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast! Good night!” Arno says as they walk away.

Madeleine leans towards her new companion. “I have no doubt they’ll have a good night…” she confides. She sighs, dreamy. “Ah, being newlyweds again…”

* * *

Upon making it to the staircase, he pushes her against the wall to kiss her, pressing his whole body against hers, his hands tightly gripping her dress around her waist, slowly pulling it up with his fingers. She glides her hands around his shoulders, her fingers caressing his neck. “Arno, we’ll never make it to our room if you continue like that! Wasn’t one public display of affection enough for you?”

He grumbles while taking a firm bite of her neck, making her yelp. “You’re right…” He swiftly sweeps her off her feet and into his arms. “And isn’t carrying the bride over the threshold supposed to bring good luck?”

“Are you saying you’re going to carry me up the stairs and into our room?” she laughs, interlacing her fingers behind his neck to hold herself.

“When you’ll be nine months pregnant, I might reconsider, but right now…” He kisses her lips softly. “...you are light as a feather!”

Underestimating the negative effect the wine has on his strength, he struggles to climb the stairs, with several near-misses where her head almost hit the railing.

"Put me down, you're going to hurt me!" she shouts, the adrenaline rush and the excitement making her laugh.

He shakes his head. Sweat is pearling on his forehead from the effort, his legs are unsteady and he feels slightly dizzy, but he is not going to admit defeat. He will carry her to their room. "Almost there, almost there..." he pants.

And just as he carries her over the threshold, he stumbles and almost drops her to the floor. “ARNO! PUT ME DOWN, NOW!” she yells, her patience running out with the last near-miss.

He puts her down to her feet as carefully as possible, immediately pulling her close to him, kissing her cheek and apologizing profusely. “I’m so, so sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You better make it up to me, or else!” she laments, waving an accusative finger in front of his nose. His only answer is to cup her face with his hands and take her lips captive.

Alone. _They are finally alone._

Lips locked on his, her hands attack the buttons of his coat without an ounce of hesitation, tugging and pulling it over his shoulders, his waistcoat quickly following, while he unties the ribbon at the back of her dress. He then reaches for the tiny pearly buttons, groaning in frustration in her mouth, his fumbling fingers struggling to unbutton them. Breaking the kiss, she chuckles and reaches behind her back to help him, but before she could touch a single button, he tugs at both halves of the back of her dress and pulls them apart with force, the buttons flying away and falling to the floor like pearl raindrops.

She shrieks. “YOU RUINED MY DRESS!”

“Madeleine can repair it…” he murmurs as he pushes her dress down until it falls to the floor with a swoosh.

“But it’s _my wedding dress_! I wanted to pass it on to our daughter...” she wails, pushing him away and bending to pick up her dress from the floor. After examining the back, satisfied that nothing was ripped -- only the buttons popped off -- she carefully lays her dress on a chair, and crouches to the floor to pick up the buttons. He kneels in front of her to help. He touches her cheek. “I’m sorry, I can’t say anything else than… Sorry. Élise, I’m sorry for ruining your dress.” She sits on her heels, smiling faintly. “It’s just the buttons. You didn’t tear anything.”

“Didn’t they teach you how to sew buttons at your fancy girls’ school?” he teases.

She stares at him with squinted eyes. “I was just about to forgive you, but now you can forget about it!” She quickly gets up to put the buttons in the small box on his desk.

_Bravo for ruining the mood_ , he thinks to himself. _.._ “I was just teasing you, Élise! _Élise!_ ” She is standing by the window, staring at the moonlit balcony. He prudently approaches her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She tries to shrug him off, but he wraps her arms around her, pulling her close to him. “Élise, please forgive me. This night is off to a really bad start…”.

She turns around to face him, a weary look on her face. She tugs at the collar of his shirt. “That was really mean. You know how miserable I was over there. Yes they taught me. No I didn’t care. Therefore, NO, I do not know how to sew buttons. Neither can I cook. Or clean. That’s the terrible wife you’ve got now...”

“Élise, _I don’t care_. I love you. Just the way you are.” He hugs her tightly, kissing her forehead. “Can we start over? This is not how I was imagining our wedding night…”

She gives him a quick smile. “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who is really off to a bad start…”

“I’m sorry, a thousand times, I’m sorry… Let me make it up to you...” He kisses her cheeks, her jawline, down to her neck, his hands caressing her back. He feels her trembling through the thin fabric of her chemise. He carefully reaches for the ties at the back of her corset, pulling on them to loosen it. “Slow and gentle, I promise…”

“Come on, you know how I like it…” she murmurs in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe.

He chuckles. “Yes, I do know how you like it, but I don’t want to ruin any more of your clothes…” He helps her out of her corset before tugging and pulling her chemise over her head. She stands naked in front of him, except for her stockings. He quickly finishes undressing, his gaze never leaving her body, his hands craving to trace all of her curves. She reaches for the roses and the pins in her hair, removing them one by one, until she can finally loosen and fluff her hair.

His hands linger over her hips. “Do you know what’s the best thing about undressing you? Uncovering all the adorable little freckles that you’re hiding under your clothes...” he says, his lips assaulting her neck and her chest, while both hands palm her butt cheeks. Wrapping her hands around his shoulders, she sneakily tugs at the tie in his hair, causing it to fall loose across his back and shoulders. “Hey!” he protests, reaching behind his head.

She looks at him smugly. “You like my freckles? I like your hair loose. Simple as that.”

He shakes his head and smiles. "All right then. I'll allow it. Just because I have a lot to make up for tonight."

"Indeed, you do. And you're taking too long," she purrs, threading her fingers in his hair.

He lifts her in his arms, eliciting a cry of protest from her. “I’ll be careful this time, I promise.” His gaze locked on her emerald eyes, he carries her to their bed, carefully laying her on the soft covers. He crawls on the bed and hovers over her body, nipping at one of her nipples before pressing his lips on hers. Opening her mouth, she welcomes his kiss and the warm sweep of his tongue. She immediately opens and lifts her legs, wrapping them around his waist and crossing her ankles behind his thighs, her arms going around his shoulders to pull him close. They both sigh in contentment at the renewed sense of intimacy between them. “I’ve missed you…” he says in a low voice. “The trip to England and back was torture. The beds were always too hard and too cold without you next to me. And all the last minute preparations for the wedding, we've barely seen each other. Promise me we’ll never be separated again.”

“If life allows it, I promise,” she says, her fingers running through his hair, as his lips leave open-mouth kisses down her neck. Rising to his hand and knees, he languidly makes his way down her body, his lips trailing from her neck to her collarbone and her chest, capturing one of her nipples to suckle on it while teasing the other by tracing circles around it with his finger. She moans and hisses at the prickling sensation that rises in her breasts under his touch, tightening the embrace of her legs around him. “Careful there, they are really sensitive since I’ve gotten pregnant…”

He looks up to her, smirking. “And if I don’t want to get strangled by your Templar thighs-”

“You should indeed be gentle,” she continues. She loosens the grip of her legs to allow him to travel further down, his loose hair tickling her skin, his hands pausing on her narrow waist before gliding over her hip bones. His eyes search for the faintest sign of a baby bump, but find nothing other than her usual flat stomach. _Or maybe not? Wishful thinking, perhaps_ … Sighing, he leaves butterfly kisses all over her belly. “You better hang tight in there, son -”

“Daughter,” she corrects.

“ _Son_.”

“ _Daughter_.”

He chuckles. “Whatever. You better hang tight in there, little baby, because I’m about to rock your mother all night long...”

She hums in anticipation, her humming turning to soft moans when his lips and his tongue make contact with the delicate skin of her inner thighs. She instinctively opens her legs as wide as she possibly can, her calves resting over his shoulders and on his back. He knows what she is aching for, and he is craving just the same -- the maddening taste of her, the softness of her flesh under his tongue, the sounds of her moans as he pleasures her. Her hands fly to each side of her head and she gasps when she feels his full lips kiss the outer part of her swollen labia, their feathery touch making her yearn for more. He taunts her with quick patternless flicks of his tongue before running it up and down her slit in long, slow strokes, reaching deeper into her folds at each pass, lapping at her wetness. He meets her gaze for an instant before closing his lips on her clit for a gentle kiss, followed by light sweeps of his tongue, drawing a low moan from her throat. He slides his hands under her legs and around her hips, holding her in a tight grip, his mouth suddenly hungry and avid, his tongue repeatedly darting, thrusting inside of her heat. She curls her fingers in his hair as his lips fasten around her clit, sucking and licking it eagerly, her breathing becoming hitched, a wave of pleasure swelling rapidly deep in her core. Meeting her gaze again, he smirks in satisfaction and resumes his ministrations, his tongue rasping over her folds while his lips suckle on her little nub. It's not long before she is bucking her hips against his lush mouth and crying out loud, her whole body jerking and shaking as her orgasm hits, her fingers tugging firmly at his hair. Giving her slit one last long stroke with his tongue, he crawls back up her body, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses from the inside of her thighs to the crook of her neck, and then settling himself between her thighs.

His impatience to obtain his own release growing, he aligns his cock at her entrance and penetrates her without warning with one hard thrust, making her yelp in surprise and whimper at the strain of her walls being stretched. Growling and shivering at the feeling of finally being fully sheathed inside of her, he begins moving his hips, unaware of her discomfort. “I don’t mean to flatter you, but you haven’t gotten any smaller,” she whispers, wincing. He halts his movements, shaking his head. “I really can’t do anything right tonight, can I?”

She chuckles. “Oh, what you did before was perfect,” she reassures, taking his head in her hands, threading her fingers in his hair. “Just give me a second...” She takes a few deep breaths, wiggling her hips to readjust the angle, and then nods.

He begins thrusting his hips again, trying to restrain himself, but rapidly losing control. It was going to be fast, it was going to be frantic, and he wasn’t making any apologies for it. With a firm grasp of his hair, she pulls his head to hers for a deep kiss, hitching her legs higher around his waist and tilting her hips to allow him to go deeper, moaning at the increased friction of his pubic bone on her clit at each of his thrusts. He pushes himself into her in deep, powerful strokes, her cries and his grunts getting louder and louder at their approaching orgasms. “Eyes on me… Élise, look at me…” he pants. She stares deeply into his eyes, feeling a sting in her stomach at the lust she sees in them. Gaze locked on each other, she is the first to come undone under him, shouting his name, shivering and shuddering as she is overcome by ecstasy. Pushing her legs further up with his forearms, he thrusts with abandon until he finally reaches his climax, his body stiffening, emptying himself inside her with a feral growl. Trembling, he kisses her lips softly before taking a deep breath and pull out of her. “That was… quick.”

“And you couldn’t pull out on time, obviously,” she teases, her fingers combing through his hair and caressing his forehead with her thumbs.

“Why would I need to do that? You’re already pregnant,” he retorts.

She laughs. “Maybe you could practice a bit, for after the baby is born?”

“Plenty of time for that,” he says, leaving light butterfly kisses on her nose, her cheeks, down to her neck.

She groans in annoyance. “Why do I feel I’ll spend the rest of my days either pregnant or nursing?” He doesn’t answer her question, too busy kissing every square centimeter of her skin on her shoulders and her chest. “Arno, are you listening?”

“43… 44… 45…” he says, punctuating each number with a kiss.

“What are you doing?” she asks, puzzled.

“59… 60… just counting and kissing every single one of your freckles… 61… 62…”

She bursts out in laughter. “You’re crazy!”

He looks up to her, smiling affectionately. “I’m crazy about you and your freckles, yes. You’ve been sitting in the sun a lot lately. I can tell. More freckles for me to love…” He continues his little game, his lips now travelling to her breasts, giving one of her nipples a few flicks of his tongue. “Promise you’ll sit in the sun all the time when we’re over there.”

She moans softly, his touch sending the most delicious sensations throughout her body. “I promise, but only if you let me play with your hair more often. It’s so soft. And you look rather handsome with your hair loose. Deal?”

His lips latch on her nipple, suckling on it avidly. “Deal,” he says before moving to her other breast, his hand gliding over her side, following the curve of her hip, and ending on her thigh. She can feel him getting hard again against her leg. _He wasn’t lying when he said he worked up an appetite_ , she thinks to herself, feeling her own arousal pooling once more between her legs. “I want you inside of me again,” she whispers, running her stockinged leg along his side like an invitation, dragging her fingernails up and down his back, feeling him shiver.

He looks up to her with a grin, shifting his body to align himself with her center, sliding in slowly but effortlessly, the previous fervor somewhat appeased, but his desire for her far from being quenched. His movements are unhurried and shallow, his mouth capturing hers for a deep, open-mouth kiss, as she tangles her fingers in his hair. They stare silently in each other’s eyes for several minutes, reveling in the closeness of their bodies moving in unison, immersed in the sound of their breathing coming in sync. “I love you, and you’re mine now…” he whispers in her ear before lifting his head, slowly rising to sit on his heels, slipping away from her embrace, dragging his hands over her breasts and her stomach, before resting them on her hips in a tight grip. Eyes closed, he thrusts freely and deeply into her, his hands imposingly tugging back on her hips to meet his thrusts. Her breasts bounce back and forth with every vigorous push, her breathing accelerating as a wicked surge of pleasure rises inside of her. Biting her lip to muffle her moans, she reaches down with her fingers to rub her clit, sending herself over the edge with a howl, her inner muscles tightening rhythmically around him. He immediately leans forward to take hold of her wrists and pull her up to hold her in his arms, meeting her gaze and pressing his lips on hers, his hands caressing her back before sliding down to squeeze her backside. “I want to come in that naughty and pretty little mouth of yours,” he murmurs.

“Why would you need to do that? I’m already pregnant,” she mocks with a coy smile, her mind still foggy from her orgasm, her breathing slowly coming around.

He groans in frustration. “It’s not about whether or not you are pregnant, it’s about what I want, and right now, there’s nothing I want more than your sweet, soft lips on me…” he retorts before pressing his lips on hers.

She seizes his tongue between her lips in retaliation, tugging and sucking on it with a grin, feeling his cock twitch inside of her. “All right, big boy, bring it on. I promise I won’t bite.” She lifts herself off of him and sits down on her heels on the bed, as he rises to stand on his knees. Looking up to him with sultry eyes, she leans forward and takes his cock firmly in her hand to bring it to her mouth, her lips encircling the head while flicking it with her tongue. She pushes it deeper in her mouth, her hand and her tongue running along the shaft, and then pulls it out slowly, her lips insisting around the head, releasing it with a pop. She repeats the maneuver several times, taking it deeper each time and sucking harder at each pass, her tongue swirling and teasing. He twines his fingers in her hair, his breathing suddenly heavier, and his hips moving almost imperceptibly, pushing his cock in and out of her wet mouth, desperate for release. She hums in satisfaction around him, the vibrations sending waves of intense pleasure straight to his groin, and with a loud groan he comes in her mouth, shooting his hot liquid straight into her throat as she tries to swallow every last drop.

She releases him from her mouth, licking her lips, and he lets himself fall on the bed onto his back, sighing deeply, an expression of pure bliss on his face. She quickly straddles his thighs, skating her hands upwards from his abs to his chest, over his shoulders and back down, her fingers spread out, her nails barely scraping his skin. She can feel his muscles twitch under her fingertips. She glides her hands over his abs again, her nails grazing insistently, feeling him shiver and jerk under her. She snickers. “Did I just discover Monsieur Dorian’s weakness?” she asks, purposely running her fingernails all over his abs, his muscles contracting while he’s trying to repress his laughter. “Yes, I have found your weakness. You are ticklish! How long did you think you could hide it from me?” She leans forward and dances her fingers quickly all over his stomach and his sides, her hardened nipples brushing against his skin, giggling as his muscles contract under her touch. Suddenly, he arches his back and laughs out loud, unable to contain himself anymore. “YES, I am ticklish, and PLEASE STOP!” he shouts loudly, writhing and squirming, consumed by laughter.

She clamps her thighs around his legs, trying to hold him still, while waving her index finger in the air. “Oh no, I am not stopping. This is too much fun!” she taunts, continuing to skitter her fingernails all over his stomach.

Not laughing anymore, he abruptly grips her wrists, stopping her in her tracks. “Élise, you better stop right now, or I’m tying your hands,” he says in a low, yet sharp voice.

She chortles. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Never releasing his grip on her wrists, he sits up and pushes her down on her back, kneeling between her legs. “Just watch me,” he warns, letting go of one of her wrists and bending over the edge of the bed to pick up his necktie from the pile of clothes on the floor. Grabbing both her hands, he begins to slowly wrap the tie around her wrists, her eyes attentively following each of his movements. He pauses before tying the knot, meeting her gaze for an instant, waiting for her approval. She nods, running her tongue over her lower lip. Using his teeth and his free hand, he loosely ties the knot.

Lifting her hands above her head, he leans forward to rest his body on top of hers, his cock rock hard and poking at the inside of her thigh. “And now, behave,” he says in a raspy voice, pressing his lips on hers, her open mouth inviting him to deepen the kiss. She lowers her hands behind his head, wiggling her fingers to catch a few strands of his hair, pulling on them, giggling in his mouth. He breaks the kiss, shaking his head. “You are being difficult, aren’t you? “ Reaching behind his head, he lifts her hands over his head and over hers, and pulls himself up to his knees. His eyes are darker than ever, his brow is furrowed, and she can’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of apprehension, mixed with an ardent desire for him. “Turn around,” he orders. She rolls over to lie on her stomach, and then lifts her backside up in the air, supporting herself on her elbows. He doesn’t waste a single second and penetrates her roughly with a low groan, and in that instant, she feels his palms smack firmly against her rounded ass. He then moves his hands to grasp her waist firmly for balance and instantly begins to thrust his hips with a passionate rhythm. Tilting her head back, she gasps and bites her lip at the delightful sensation of being filled so completely, each of his movements reaching deep inside of her, drawing loud moans from her throat. She whimpers in frustration as she struggles to flip away a few locks of her hair that are prickling her eyes, the tie around her wrists hindering her. Bending over, he slips his hands under her armpits to lift her up, and brushes away the locks of hair that were bothering her. Thankful for his help, she smiles faintly, lips parted and back arched, holding her arms mid-air as he slides his hands down to palm and squeeze her well-rounded breasts, teasing her nipples between his index and thumb. He then pulls her closer to him, biting into the curve of her neck and breathing hard and loud in her ear, while pumping into her almost frantically. Holding her up steady with an arm around her stomach, he reaches between her legs to rub her hardened clit. Letting her arms hanging limp in front of her, she mewls and wails in his arms, giving herself entirely to his touch and the raging sensations which swept over her body as she hits her climax. Unable to hold himself back anymore, he thrusts a few more times and finally explodes inside of her with a throaty shout.

Both shuddering and still breathing heavily, their bodies glistening with sweat and completely spent, they let themselves fall on the bed to their side. “That was…” she begins, while catching her breath. Sighing deeply to get his own breathing under control, he moves closer to her, pushing her hair aside and wrapping his arm around her waist, his lips leaving soft kisses on her shoulder. “Yeah, that was… intense” he says, chuckling lightly. Nuzzling her neck, he closes his eyes, the wine and the exhaustion from a long and eventful day suddenly taking over. Turning slightly to her back, elbowing him hard in the ribs, she raises her tied hands. “Arno? Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Wincing in pain and suddenly very awake, he hurriedly sits behind her and proceeds to remove the necktie from around her wrists, massaging her skin and bringing her hands to his lips to kiss them softly. “Did I... hurt you? And your hands? I know... I can be rough, sometimes," he admits sheepishly.

She rolls onto her back, smiling warmly, her cheeks still flushed, strands of hair plastered on her forehead. “Sometimes? No, you didn’t hurt me at all. My hands are fine. We might want to turn it down a notch because of the baby, though. And you know I will tie _your_ hands in retaliation sooner or later, right?"

He lies down next to her, kissing her cheek, his hand smoothing her hair. “You’re probably right about the baby. And you can tie my hands anytime. I love you, Madame Dorian, my wife.”

She feels a pang in the pit of her stomach. All of a sudden, there’s a voice in her head, shouting _That’s not your name! That’s not you! What have you done?_ She forces a smile, trying to silence the voice. “I’ll have to get used to the sound of that! I love you, Monsieur Dorian, my husband.” She pauses. “Gosh I need a bath… I’m all sweaty and sticky… But it’s late…”

“Tomorrow morning then.” He kisses her lips. “Together.”

“I like that idea,” she says with a wide grin.

They crawl under the bed covers, lying side by side like spoons, his hand on her stomach.

“That fascination for my eyes tonight, where did that come from?” she asks after a moment.

He sighs, gathering his thoughts. “Because all I ever see in your eyes is gloom. As if you’re constantly carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Or as if there’s some kind of darkness inside that’s consuming you. But in that brief moment in time, I see peace. I see love. I see bliss. I wish I could take away your fears, I wish I knew what’s tormenting you. I wish you would let me in that stubborn head of yours. Just remember I’ll always be by your side, Élise. You’re not alone.”

She cannot find the words to say anything back, and she is glad he doesn’t insist. Maybe, one day, she’ll let him in. While he quickly falls asleep, she lies awake, staring at the moon shining through the window.

* * *

It’s the middle of the night, but Élise can’t sleep. She feels restless and anxious, and even Arno’s regular breathing, which is often all she needs to soothe herself to sleep, can’t bring the inner calmness she’s so desperately seeking. She touches the wedding ring on her finger. It all happened so fast! Just two weeks ago, she found out she was carrying Arno’s baby. And now, she’s a married woman, _Madame Arno Dorian_. She knows she should be happy -- there’s her handsome and caring husband sleeping next to her, and she’s carrying their love child -- but there’s that sorrow deep inside of her, the mourning of all that was and all that could ever be, of her past and what should have been her destiny, and she can’t seem to be able to shake it off. She lies on her back, her hands flat on her stomach, trying to take deep breaths, but it appears the more she tries to relax, the tighter her chest feels and the harder it gets to breathe. Despite the warm covers and Arno’s warmth radiating, she is shivering.

She sits on the edge of the bed. Her muscles are aching. The window is open, letting a cool September breeze penetrate the room. She grabs a blanket from the floor and wraps it around her shoulders. _It must have fallen off the bed earlier.._.

Upon getting up to her feet, a sharp pain in her belly makes her gasp. The pain is strong enough to make her lose balance, having to hold herself on the edge of the bed. _The baby, the baby!_ is all she can think of as she is overcome by the most intense sense of fear she ever felt in her life. Breathing heavily with tears rolling down her cheeks, she stumbles towards the fireplace, drawn like a magnet by the light and the warmth of the fire, as if it was the only thing that could appease her. She falls to her knees clutching her stomach as her whole body is shaken by uncontrollable sobs. _I can’t lose the baby, I can’t lose it_ …

“Arno,” she wails in a faint voice, gasping for air between sobs. “Arno,” she cries louder, praying he would wake up.

Meanwhile, Arno hears his name being called like in a dream. The voice is lamenting, crying. And he knows this voice… He wakes up with a jolt, cringing at the hammering in his head. _You had too much wine again, when will you learn?_ He notices the empty sheets next to him. “Élise? Is that you? Where are you?” he calls, trying to clear the fogginess in his mind. Then he sees her. Kneeling in front of the fire, a blanket over her shoulders, in what looked to be a complete state of panic. Or was it pain? He couldn’t make out what exactly what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. She needed help, and fast.

He hops off the bed and rushes towards his wife, kneeling right behind her. He takes the blanket off her shoulders and places it over his, then pulls her close to him, bare skin against bare skin, using his whole body like a shield, his arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, pinning her arms down to each side of her body, the blanket now covering them both. He rocks her gently, trying to reassure her by talking to her softly in her ear. “I’m here, I’m here. Breathe, Élise, breathe. Shhhhh my love…” She tries to speak, but there are no sounds other than her sobbing. Her breathing is coming in short, ragged gasps. “Breathe, breathe, in and out, breathe… I’m here, don’t worry, I’m here,” he continues.

Gradually, he can feel her breathing getting more regular, and her sobs quieter, despite still not being able to speak. “That’s it, you’re doing great. Breathe, breathe, listen to my voice...”

As she calms down several minutes later, he slowly loosens his embrace, allowing her more freedom to move. Her violent sobs make way for silent tears.

“Élise, what happened?” he asks, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

She begins sobbing again. “I… I couldn’t sleep… then I… I got up… and it was hurting… and I got scared… I thought I was losing the baby… and--”

“What?” _No, this can’t be happening, I’m in a nightmare, I must be sleeping, it’s the wine, for sure…_ The world is crumbling around him, but he has to remain strong. For her.

Her sobbing intensifies, her shoulders rising and falling dramatically. “I had a lot of pain…”

“You’re saying “had”-- do you still have pain? Tell me!” His voice is breaking as he is fighting back his own tears.

She shakes her head. “No,” she manages to say between loud gasping sobs.

He sighs deeply in relief. “Maybe… maybe it was nothing. We’ll talk to the doctor or a midwife in the morning. Let’s just get you back into bed...”

“I feel so alone…” she whimpers, wiping her tears off her cheeks with her thumbs.

“What are you talking about, I’m here!” he says, grasping her shoulders with his hands.

She smiles faintly through her tears. “You’re not a woman. I want someone to talk to… about all that woman stuff I’m going through...”

He chuckles. “Fair point. Madeleine is there for you, she had children; just ask her, I know she’d be glad to help.” He places soft kisses on her shoulder, feeling her trembling under his lips.

“I really wish my mother was here.” She bursts into tears again, her hands clenched into tight fists. “I want my mother. I need her here with me. I need her guidance. Why did she have to die? Why was she taken away from me? Who did this? What did I do to deserve this?” she bawls looking up to the ceiling, as she was speaking to God in heaven.

Seeing she was about to break down again, he smothers her once more, trying to hold her fists down before she hurts herself or hurts him. He was relieved she was finally opening up and letting him in -- if she only knew how many times he’s asked himself the same questions. Why did his father have to die? Why was he taken away from him? Who did this? What did he do to deserve this? If she only knew how he wished his father was here to guide him. For the first time in several years, he allows his tears to flow freely, his mind in a whirlwind of emotions. They remain in a tight embrace for several minutes, sobbing together, two broken souls being mend by one another. When they quiet down, they simply lie next to each other on the rug by the fireplace, holding hands, bare skin against bare skin, wrapped up in the blanket. They do not need to speak. There will be plenty of time to talk about the night’s events another day. Exhausted, Élise finally falls asleep as the sun rises, appeased by Arno’s light snoring and the warmth of his hand holding hers, and his body against hers.


	6. Ghosts Of Times Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note - and several warnings - are probably in order.
> 
> This chapter wasn't easy to write. While we stand 300% behind the choices we've made and believe this part of the story was necessary, we know the content of the chapter might be upsetting to some readers (graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con).
> 
> Please remember: We love Élise. She's the reason why we are writing this story in the first place. We couldn't accept her death, and wanted to give her a chance to live. 
> 
> In this chapter, they touch the bottom of the barrel. But it gets better from here. We promise.

**September 13, 1794**

Arno wakes up with a blazing headache and the sun shining on his face. Blinking, he rubs his eyes and wonders why he is lying with his back on the hard floor rather than in their bed. Next to him, Élise is sleeping peacefully, her hair spread out around her head like a halo, her body curled up tightly and her hands near her face. Upon seeing the remnants of dried-up tears on her cheeks, the events of the night come rushing back to him. He rolls to his stomach to face her and watch her sleep, resting his head on his extended arm, his free hand delicately smoothing her hair. He is dying to touch her face, to kiss away those tear marks, to erase all traces of what has been a heartbreaking ending to a wonderful day.

And the baby… He suddenly has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, thinking of the possibility of her losing it. Was it his fault? He could never forgive himself for putting her through yet another tragedy in her too young life. “I love you, _both_ of you,” he murmurs softly. His fingers are burning to touch her belly, but he resists the temptation, too afraid to disturb her sleep. And she looks so serene. _For once_ , he thinks to himself.

Élise stirs in her sleep, her peaceful face turning into a frown. He marvels at her beauty -- how can she still be so pretty even though she is frowning? That little turned-up nose, her long eyelashes, those delicious lips, and the tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks… Slowly, she opens her eyes, a faint smile etching on her lips when her eyes focus on him lying next to her. “Hey, my love, good morning,” he says, his hand immediately reaching to caress her cheek. Her only answer is to close her eyes again, her frown deepening. She caught a whiff of an odd smell coming from outside, and it was making her queasy. She sits up abruptly covering her mouth with her hand, taking deep breaths to calm down the wave of nausea that was rising from deep down in her stomach. He sits next to her, brushing her hair aside with his hand to rub her back. He kisses her shoulder, but she shrugs him off. “I’m sorry, I just need air… and space…” she says between deep breaths.

They hear a quiet knocking on the door. “Monsieur Arno, Madame Élise? Are you awake?” Élise pulls the blanket up to cover her bare breasts, suddenly troubled by her nudity. This was Faustine’s voice -- not Madeleine’s, who was enjoying a well-deserved day off -- and she felt slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, we are,” Arno calls. “You can come in.”

Upon entering the room, she is taken aback when she finds the bed empty. She really wonders why they are lying on the floor and not in their bed, but it was certainly not her place to ask. “Will you need anything? Will you come down for breakfast?” the young servant asks, her voice uncertain, and staring at her feet.

“Some hot water for bathing please, and…” Arno turns to Élise. “Will you come down for breakfast?” She shakes her head. “I’ll come down later,” he continues.

Faustine quickly bows and leaves the room. Arno gets up to his feet, not without difficulty, as the change in position temporarily worsens the hammering in his head, and all his muscles are protesting from having spent long hours on a very uncomfortable floor. “Let’s get you back in bed,” he says, offering his hand to help her get up. She takes his hand hesitantly, slowly rising to her feet, feeling slightly dizzy. “How are you feeling this morning… other than the usual?” he asks prudently.

Her face tightens. “If you’re asking me about pain, I’m fine, thank you,” she retorts dryly.

“Élise, I’m just concerned… you scared me. When you were talking about losing the baby, I-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says firmly while crawling under the bedcovers.

He joins her in bed, pulling her gently to lean on him. “Fine. If you won’t talk to _me_ about it, will you at least talk to Madeleine? Or a midwife? Or the doctor?”

She gives him a quick smile. She knows he is just trying to help, but she can’t bring herself to talk right now, afraid for the floodgates to open up again. Just a few weeks ago, she would have practically prayed to lose this baby - who wasn’t planned, wasn’t wanted, wasn’t what she was supposed to do, wasn’t what she was supposed to be. But now… She shudders, placing her hands on her belly. “You can call in the doctor.” She is scared of what the doctor will say, but she needs to find out.

He sighs and hums softly, contended to rest his aching head and body comfortably in bed, with Élise in his arms.

They had both almost drifted to sleep again when Faustine returned with water, huffing and puffing from the effort, blowing away a strand of hair that was hanging in front of her eyes. She left as quickly as she came in, without saying a word, and barely making eye contact. Arno touches Élise’s shoulder. “My love? Come, the bath is ready for us.”

* * *

Élise is sitting on her favorite chair by the balcony doors, chewing her lip. “Hang in there, my little girl. Stay with me,” she says in a low voice, looking down at her hand on her stomach. Hurried footsteps in the corridor and the doctor’s voice jolt her back to reality. “Would you please wait outside Monsieur, I need to examine Madame closely.”

“No, I’m staying. I need to know.” Arno’s tone is firm, yet he cannot hide his worry.

The doctor shakes his head. “Monsieur, I will be discussing highly private matters with Madame, this is not your place.”

Arno rubs his eyes with his thumb and index, his impatience growing, and his head painfully pounding. “She is my wife and I am the father. All the more reason to stay.”   

“I think you both should shut up and let me decide who stays,” Élise interrupts, standing next to the bed with squinted eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Madame,” the doctor begins, taking a few steps towards Élise. “In my quality of respected medicine man, I advise you to listen to me. Monsieur should wait outside.”

“And in my quality of pregnant woman whose body we are talking about here, I advise you to listen to me,” she spats, fuming. “My husband stays. End of the story.”

Arno coughs lightly, trying to hold back his laughter. “I think we’re settled here,” he says with a smirk, standing squarely at the foot of the bed.

The doctor sighs, shaking his head. “I suppose so. Madame, please lie down...”

She gives Arno a sly look as she lies down on her back, straightening her skirts to cover her legs. After washing his hands in the basin, the doctor sits on the edge of the bed next to her, taking her wrist in one hand to check her pulse. “Madame, your husband told me you reported a very sharp pain last night. Can you describe what happened?”

“I had to get out of bed, and upon getting up on my feet, I felt a really sharp pain here,” she says, pointing to the area under her belly button. “It was as if something was contracting inside.”

“Did you notice a bleeding of any kind?” the doctor asks. He then looks at Arno, who avoids his gaze, his eyes focused on Élise.

“No, none,” she admits.

The doctor smiles. “Very good. This is good news. However, I do need to examine you quite closely to determine if you are effectively at risk of a miscarriage.”

She frowns. “What exactly do you mean, doctor?”

He looks at Arno again before answering. “I need to verify the state of the entrance of your womb… from the inside. That means I will need to insert two fingers at most, and push on your stomach to force your womb down.”

Arno turns livid. “You will do _what_?”

The doctor turns to Arno. “I was not asking you to leave for no reason, Monsieur. If this makes you uncomfortable, you are free to go,” he replies, miffed.

Élise meets Arno’s gaze. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can do this on my own,” she says, forcing a smile. She is lying. She would prefer he stays with her, but she can’t admit it.

Arno shakes his head. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“As you wish, Monsieur.” He turns to Élise, smiling reassuringly. “Madame, I promise it will not be painful -- disagreeable at most. Would you bend your knees and spread your legs a little bit?” She obeys, staring at the ceiling, praying for it to be quick. The doctor pulls her skirts up, denuding her lower body from the waist down. Arno bites on the fingernail of his thumb and looks away, shifting from one foot to the other, unable to hide his malaise.

The doctor places the edge of his hand right under her belly button, and positions his other hand, index and middle finger extended, between her legs. “Now, Madame, I will ask you to take a deep breath, and to hold it for as long as you can.” As she fills her lungs with air, he inserts his fingers, making her grimace. She whimpers and exhales as he pushes his fingers deeper and turns his hand in various directions while pressing down with the edge of his hand, the increased pressure sending sharp waves of pain inside her belly.

“Stop, you’re hurting her,” Arno shouts, furious.

“Arno... if you can’t stand it… please go,” she says sharply between clenched teeth.

“I’m done, Madame.” The doctor pulls his fingers out carefully, and lifts his hand from her belly. As he gets up to go wash his hands again, Élise straightens her legs and pulls her skirts back over them. “And? Doctor?” Arno asks, rushing to be at Élise’s side.

“Judging from the size of Madame’s womb, I’d say she is 8 to 9 weeks along, which seems correct. And I didn’t feel any signs of an imminent miscarriage.” The doctor comes to stand at the foot of the bed. “Pain and cramps are not uncommon at this stage… As a general rule, I would advise Madame to avoid upsetting situations as much as possible for the remainder of her pregnancy. Pregnant women are vulnerable to all sorts of afflictions. And perhaps, if I may add… you should take things a bit easier, and avoid... _relations_ for a little while.”

“How long is… a little while?” Arno asks.

“Oh, a few weeks at most. Until she enters her second trimester. The risk of miscarriage, even though it can never be completely excluded, is reduced as the pregnancy advances.”

“ _Weeks_?” Élise says loudly.

“Doctor, what about traveling?” Arno asks, suddenly worried their carefully laid-out plan would be at risk of never being carried out.

“I would seriously advise against travelling until the end of the pregnancy. And to wait until the child is weaned before attempting any sort of long-distance journey. Give yourself the chance to recover.”

The doctor’s recommendation leaves them speechless. They give each other a worried look, their minds racing. Waiting this long would mean they’d have to stay in Paris for at least another year. They don’t have that much time. Arno is the first to speak. “All right, if you say so, doctor. Thank you for your advice. If you are done here, I will accompany you back out.” He turns to Élise. “I need to speak to the intendant, apparently there’s a potential buyer. But we need to talk, you and I. Tonight? Over dinner? ” She nods, chewing the inside of her lip again, her face expressionless.

* * *

Arno finds the intendant sitting at his desk, holding a pile of papers in front of him. “You wanted to speak to me? Did a buyer finally show some interest?” he asks, pulling a chair for himself to sit on the other side of the desk.

The intendant nods, picking the pile of papers up to flip quickly through it. “Indeed, Monsieur. But I’m afraid I know very little about this potential buyer. A most mysterious man came by this morning when you were eating breakfast. He didn’t want to speak to you directly, nor was he the buyer himself. He said to be representing someone.”

Arno frowns. “This is unusual. But he did present an offer, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. Quite a generous one, even. If you want to have a look.” He hands him the pile of papers.

Arno raises an eyebrow, incredulous. The amount is far beyond anything he ever dreamed of being able to obtain from the sale of the Café. “This is the amount they are offering? In what currency is this?”

“Livres. There is no trick, this is really the amount he formally offered, all put on paper,” the intendant says with a discreet smile, cleaning his spectacles nonchalantly.

“I suppose I would be a fool to turn him down? Can I trust this man? What do you think?” Arno asks, handing the papers back to the intendant. He can’t help but feeling suspicious about a ‘mysterious man’ showing up to buy the Café, and offering quite a sum of money.

“Nowadays, rich men tend to hide their money, by fear of becoming a target of some sort. To me, it’s not really a surprise that the buyer wishes to remain anonymous. I can’t see why you shouldn’t go ahead with the sale. This is what you want, isn’t it, Monsieur?”

Arno nods quickly. “Yes, of course. Élise and I must leave Paris, but we won’t get anywhere without money. She’s still holding on to quite a sum herself, mostly in her estates, but we’d rather keep this as a security buffer.”

The intendant hands the formal letter of intent from the buyer to Arno. “You should keep the paper with the offer, Monsieur. Talk about it with Madame.”

“Thank you,” Arno says, folding the letter and slipping it in his chest pocket. “I’ll speak to Élise this evening. When will this mysterious man contact you again to inquire if I accepted the offer?”

“He said he would send a fellow representative within 48 hours. That’s how long you have to make a decision.”

Arno nods. They both get off their chair at the same time, the intendant pulling a key from his pocket. With this key, he opens a small filing cabinet, where he stores the property papers among other important papers pertaining to the Café. “Good day, Monsieur,” the intendant says, as Arno leaves the study.

* * *

Later that evening, they sit at their usual table, eating in silence. The bottle of wine sits on the table untouched, and they mostly pick at their food without any real appetite. The Café is full as a result of yesterday’s exceptional closure, and patrons’ loud voices are assailing their ears.

Élise breaks the silence, dropping her fork in her plate. “So. You spoke to the intendant about the sale.”

“Yes, I have,” he says smiling. “And the offer, my love, is quite generous.” He pulls the letter of intent from his chest pocket and hands it to Élise, who immediately opens her eyes wide and cocks her head upon seeing the amount of money.

“Who is this buyer? Is he out of his mind?” she asks, skeptical.

“I have no idea who the buyer his. He wishes to remain anonymous. Which isn’t unusual, according to the intendant.”

She gives Arno a smirk. “You want to accept the offer?”

“Why not? I’m getting cold hard cash the moment I sign the documents. Which means we can leave almost immediately after. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. Our ticket out of Paris," he says, hammering his finger on the table.

“But what do we do if you sell the Café, Arno? We shouldn’t travel, but we can’t stay here.”

He sits back in his chair, playing distractedly with his knife. “The longer we wait, the riskier it gets. You saw what happened yesterday. Word is out you are still in Paris. It won’t end well... “

“I know. But do we want to risk the life of our baby?” she asks, putting her hand on his.

He stares deeply in her eyes. “Do I want to risk _your_ life -- and the baby’s for that matter, the two obviously linked together -- to _potentially_ save our baby’s life, if traveling is really as risky as the doctor said it is… is that what you’re asking me?” She looks away, but he continues. “If you _are_ asking me to choose… Please don’t hate me for saying this, but I’d rather risk the life of our child than risk _your_ life.”

“What? You can’t be serious?” she says loudly, eliciting some curious looks from the patrons at nearby tables.

He slaps the top of the table with the palm of his hand, making her recoil in surprise. “Élise, listen to me. Your life is far, far more at risk. And if I lose you, I lose _both of you_. But if I lose the baby…”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “If _we_ lose the baby, I’m still here. To give you more children, eventually. It’s a consolation, I suppose,” she says sarcastically.

He leans forward, taking his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “You both mean the world to me. And you are both irreplaceable.”

“I can’t deny it, for an instant, when the doctor told me I was pregnant, I wished it would end in a miscarriage,” she says in a faint voice.

He gives her a bewildered look. “You can’t say that…”

Holding his gaze, she launches in a tirade, visibly upset. “No, hear me out. At first, I was in shock. My whole world, my entire future, was being shattered in front of my eyes with these simple words: _you are expecting a child_.” She feels tears pricking her eyes, but she ignores them. “Soon after came anger, so I lashed out at you. And then, I thought that perhaps, if I would lose the baby, things could get back to the way they were… And I never felt so ashamed of myself in my entire life for wishing death upon a little being that didn’t even ask to be born, even if it was just for a few seconds.” She stops for a moment to take a few deep breaths, swallowing back her tears. “Then, you asked me to marry you, to be a family… I can never explain what happened inside of me at that point, but… even though I am still terrified at the thought of being a mother, even though I still haven’t quite gotten to terms with this new future I have ahead of me… From that moment on, I accepted this baby as being part of me. And losing my baby would mean losing a part of myself…”

He moves his chair closer to the table, taking one of her hand in his to kiss it softly. “But risking your death would automatically mean the death of our baby...”

She smiles through her tears. “That’s a horrible dilemma, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not to me. I know I’m choosing you.”

She looks down, hesitant. “I need to think, Arno.”

“Don’t take too long. Time is running out,” he says softly before kissing her hand again.

They remain silent for several long minutes, the reality of the impossible dilemma they are facing sinking in. Arno is the first to speak, looking at their almost full plates. “I don’t think we’re ever going to finish this. Let’s just go to bed. Last night was too short, and we have some thinking to do.”

She wipes the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Aren’t we already acting like an old married couple? Going to bed early and all,” she says, chuckling lightly.

* * *

**September 15, 1794**

Arno knocks discreetly on the door frame of the intendant’s study. “You wanted to see me?” he says, noticing the intendant is not alone.

“Monsieur, yes. Please come in, have a seat,” the intendant says, pointing at the empty chair on the other side of his desk.

Arno politely shakes hands with the other man before sitting down. “I suppose this is about the offer?”

The intendant nods. “Monsieur here represents the buyer. And he is curious to hear your thoughts. Have you made a decision?”

“Before I announce my decision, I would like to know who I am dealing with here.” He turns to the buyer’s representative. “Who do you work for?” he asks, staring into the other man’s eyes.

“I’m not allowed to reveal his identity,” the representative says, holding Arno’s gaze. “We see this purchase as a mutual benefit for both parties. We are in need of a strategic location, and you are in need of money to leave Paris to protect your wife and your new family.”

“How do you know all this?” Arno asks, frowning.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer this question. But rest assured, we are not the enemy.”

Arno shakes his head. “You expect me to believe this? And to just hand over the Café to someone I don’t know? This place was entrusted in me. I have to look after it, and I will not leave it in just about anyone’s hands.”

The representative shrugs. “We don’t expect you to believe us, nor to even trust us. But we are hoping that you will still trust us enough to go ahead with the transaction. We will not let the Café go to waste. You have our word.”

Arno sits back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, gauging his interlocutor for several minutes. _Who is this buyer? Think, Arno, think. Who could he be?_

The intendant breaks the silence. “Monsieur Dorian, what is your answer to the offer?”

“I…” Arno hesitates. He then extends his hand for a handshake. “I accept the offer.”

The representative smiles and accepts the extended hand. “Very good, my master will be delighted to hear it...”

Arno lifts a finger to pause him. “Under one condition.”

The representative’s smile fades. “And what would it be?”

“I need to know who I am dealing with. If your master doesn’t want to reveal his identity before the transaction -- all right, I’ll allow it. I guess I’m desperate enough to leave Paris to trust him. But once the deal is officially sealed, I need to know.”

“Fair enough, Monsieur. I will see to that. Let me just repeat: my master is not a foe. Quite the contrary.”

Arno nods. “Then I will see you one week from today, at the signature of the papers.”

“I will be there.” Both men get off their chairs, shaking hands one last time.

“You can leave, Monsieur Dorian,” the intendant says. “I’ll accompany Monsieur to the door.”

* * *

**September 18, 1794**

“Monsieur Arno, Madame Élise, wake up!”

They both wake up with a start, their hearts beating hard and loud in their chests. “Madeleine, what’s going on?” Arno asks, rubbing his eyes. Élise groans, swiftly pulling the bed covers up over her head, only to pull them down just as fast. She caught a hint of that odd smell again, and it was making her extremely nauseous. She sits in bed, covering her mouth with her hand, waving with her other hand at Arno to leave her alone.

“Monsieur Arno, please come down immediately, someone broke into the intendant’s office last night.” Madeleine is speaking fast, her cheeks are flushed, indicating she clearly ran upstairs as fast as she could.

“What?” Arno jumps out of bed, making a quick dash for his clothes, passing in front of Madeleine, who is covering her eyes with her hands.

“Did they take anything?” Arno asks, buttoning his shirt. “Madeleine, look at me when I’m speaking to you. Did they take anything?”

She blushes intensely, barely lifting her hands from her eyes. “Monsieur Arno, I… I have no idea if they took anything. But if I may, Monsieur, please put your clothes on before you ask me to look at you.” She lets out a quiet shout, covering her eyes again.  

He pauses for a second, then bursts out in laughter. “I’m sorry, Madeleine, I didn't realize...” he says as he quickly puts on his breeches, followed by his shoes. He turns towards Élise, who is now standing by the chamber pot, white as sheets, coughing and gagging. “Élise, will you be all right?” he asks, a worried look on his face.

“Yes... just go...” she manages in a low voice.

Nodding, he motions Madeleine to get moving. “Let's go!"

Arno finds the intendant's study in a poor state. Tables and chairs have been flipped, and the floor is covered in debris from broken glass and sheets of paper. The chest that contained the Cafe's earnings of the past week has been busted open and emptied. And the locked filing cabinet, where the intendant had stored the property papers a few days before, has been forced, its content scattered all over the study.

"Whoever broke into my study knew what they were after," the intendant says, picking up documents from the floor and shoving them under his arm. "They were clearly after money, and after important documents."

Arno shakes his head, flipping a few chairs back over. "How much was in the chest?" he asks the intendant.

“About 15,000 livres, Monsieur,” the intendant says, sighing.

Arno winces. "That's a lot of money. I guess we’re lucky the sale will bring more than expected. Is anything else missing?”

The intendant take off his spectacles. His face is grim. “Monsieur, the property act appear to be missing. It seems to me…” He pauses, meeting Arno’s gaze. “It seems to me someone is trying to prevent the sale from going through.”

"Are you sure the act isn’t on the floor somewhere? Or did you move it to another location, perhaps?” Arno asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes scanning the room from floor to ceiling in search of the missing documents.

“It could be among the other documents on the floor, indeed, but I know for sure it was still in the locked cabinet yesterday when I left for the night.” The intendant bends over to search through a pile of documents, in vain. He shakes his head in frustration, then turns to Arno. “Monsieur, I recommend you pay the notary a visit, explaining the situation. He must have a copy of the act on archive, but it’s important he is notified that your own copy has potentially been stolen. I’ll keep on searching… and try to clean up the mess.”

“I’ll ask Madeleine to send someone to help you. I should go check on Élise now. She was really not well this morning.” He pats the intendant’s shoulder before leaving the study. “And I need weapons. I have a bad feeling about this,” he says out loud to himself.

* * *

“Élise?” Arno calls while entering their room. “Where are you?”

“I’m here!” she answers from the balcony. “Just getting some fresh air. There’s this smell that’s been bothering me for a few days. Can’t put my finger on it. But it surely makes me sick.” She makes a disgusted face. “I can’t wait to get rid of this nausea. Why do I have to be sick all the time... Oh sorry, important matters first. How bad is it downstairs?”

He comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her body. His hands come to rest on her stomach, his fingers hopelessly searching for a hint of a curve. _Wait, could it finally be…?_ He dismisses the thought, as he’s been disappointed too many times already. _It’s too early, Arno_ , he can hear her say. He sighs. “The study is a mess. Papers all over the place. Furniture turned upside down.”

His hands feel warm, protective, calming. Inside, she is feeling cold, anxious, restless. “Did they take anything?” she asks, chewing her lip, looking down at the busy street.

“15,000 livres and the property act, apparently. Someone is definitely trying to stand in the way of the sale of the Café.”

“But who?” She sighs. “I suppose there are enough groups of various fanatical levels _on both sides_ who would want to make sure we never leave Paris.”

He frowns. “Both sides? Élise, this break-in has the Templar cross stamped all over it.”

“How can you be so sure? Don’t tell me you actually believed the Assassins when they agreed to leave us alone?” she asks bitterly.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you insinuating that the Brotherhood did that? Élise, the Café is in the possession of the Assassins for years -- decades, even. Why would they break into their own property?”

“And why are you automatically assuming that the Templars are behind this? Oh, because Assassins never turn against each other, right? It’s only us Templars, of course!” she shouts, turning around to face him.

They stare in each other’s eyes for a long moment. Despite their love, despite the bridges they’ve laid between the two factions, they come to realize that their life-long conditioning will always be in the way and undermine their trust in each other.

“Arno, promise me the children will never pick a side,” she says in a low voice.

He takes a hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “I’ll do everything I can. But you have to promise me to do the same. We both have to commit to it. We both have to be open-minded, we both have to ensure both teachings are always equally represented.”

“They might still end up choosing one or the other. And God forbid they’d turn against one of us…” she says, shuddering.

“We can only do our best. The rest is in fate’s hands.” He pauses. “I have to go to the notary’s office. But before I leave… I need to equip some weapons.”

“Weapons?” she asks, frowning. _Does he have the same nagging feeling inside as I have?_ “Then please fetch me my dagger. One is never too prepared…”

* * *

While Arno is at the notary’s office, Élise is sitting outside in the rooftop garden, alone. She is curled up on a bench reading a book about Botany, but she can’t concentrate on the content. Her senses are on alert. After what happened the night before, she knows she shouldn’t be exposed. However, after being locked up between the four walls of the Café for so long already, she is suffocating: it feels like the whole of the City of Paris is closing in on her, with only the slightest of chances to escape.

Weary, she lets the book fall on the ground and takes a deep breath, spontaneously placing her hands on her belly one atop the other. “We’re off to a rough start, you and me. And it’s you and me -- and your father -- against a world full of bad people. I promise you, my little girl, I’ll do everything in my power so you never have to deal with such bad people in your life…”

In the gentle breeze, the scent of a perfume. Suddenly, an arm coils around her neck and her eyes lock on the barrel of a gun aimed directly at her. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the intruder approaching from behind and he has her now in a tight grip. But there is no mistake in his identity, the pungent body odor giving it away. _Ruddock, how dare you?_ She tries to pull his arm away from her neck, but he is too strong. She starts to panic, her arms flailing helplessly. “Do not say a word, or you’ll never see tomorrow. Now, get up!” he says in a low, hoarse voice. Gasping for air, she gets up slowly to her feet. Feeling the grip around her neck loosening a little, she seizes the opportunity to reach for the dagger she was carrying under her skirt, not without catching Ruddock’s attention. “Don’t you even _think_ about using that on me! Let it go!” he says, further tightening his grip. Dropping the dagger to the ground, she tries to scream, but there is no sound. _I’ll just do what he says, I’ll get us out of this, my little girl, I promise…_ “Move!” he barks, bending over to pick up her dagger from the ground and pushing her to advance to a more secluded area of the garden.

Once there, he abruptly releases her neck, only to hit her in the face with the butt of his gun, the powerful blow sending her spinning and knocking her down. She falls flat on her stomach, her chin hitting the ground hard. Coughing and gasping, she clutches her neck, the piercing pain coming from her cheekbone and her jaw making her woozy. Drops of blood slowly trickle from her cracked lower lip.

Before she can even attempt to get up, he pins her to the ground by dropping to his knees, falling directly on her back, taking her breath away and crushing her under his weight. She feels her ribs cracking. _Why are you doing this to me? I trusted you… The baby, the baby, I have to protect the baby…_ Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he quickly straddles her, and ties the handkerchief around her neck to gag her and stop her from screaming. Crying loudly, she thrashes with her arms and kicks with her legs, desperately trying to free herself from his grip and loosen the gag. Holding a piece of rope between his clenched teeth, he pins one of her arms down with his knee, grabbing the other with his hand, and then pulls both her hands behind her back. “You haven’t lost that fiery temper of yours, have you?” he bellows, wrapping the rope tightly around her wrists. She stares at him with squinted eyes, kicking his back with her legs as hard as she possibly can, but she is fighting for each breath and she is tiring rapidly. He puts his hand behind her head, pressing her injured face into the dirt, the intense pain making her sob and whimper. “I thought you and me had a deal. You owe me something, you haven’t kept your promise,” he snarls, while reaching behind him to pull her skirt up, exposing her legs. “Too busy getting fucked by that Assassin lover of yours? And what about me? I loved you too, you know.” He pulls his skirt further up, slipping his hand under it, running his fingers between her legs. She lets out a howl, clamping her thighs together, refusing to let him assault her. “Trying to be unruly? Do you know what I do with unruly bints like you? I fuck them in their tight little arses until they’ve drawn their last breath.” Without warning, he slides a finger into the puckered entrance of her body. She squirms and writhes under him in protest, sobbing loudly. _No, no get away from me!_ “You like being finger-fucked in the arse, don’t you?” She tries to kick him again with the heels of her shoes, each time with less conviction, her sobs quieting down, pain sapping her strength and her spirits away. _How could I be so naive? How could I let him do this to me? Arno, where are you? I need you…_

“That’s it. I knew I'd find a way to make you go quiet.” He releases her head from his grip, and pulls his finger out of her. “You’ve been watched for a while. I'm not here to kill you, but I wouldn’t hesitate. I’m here to send you a message and get rid of a little _problem_ ,” he growls. _The shadow behind the curtains, I was being watched after all… And that odd smell, it had to be him!_ She is relieved when he finally gets up to his feet, her ribcage finally having enough space to fill her lungs. But her respite is short-lived, as he throws heavy kicks to her side and her ribs, her pain reaching new levels. _You can violate me, but you are not going to make me lose this baby!_ Drawing all the energy she can muster, she rolls to the other side, curling her body and bringing her knees up, trying to shield her stomach from his strikes. At that same moment, in a daze, she sees Madeleine standing in front of the balcony doors inside the training room, clutching her chest, a hand flying to cover her mouth, immediately running away and disappearing from view. _Good, sweet, Madeleine._ Rolling to lie on her stomach, she tries to avoid each of his blows, taking his hits on her hips, her lower back, and her legs. Overcome by excruciating pain, she closes her eyes, slowly feeling herself drifting away into unconsciousness _. I'm so sorry, my little girl… I can’t fight anymore, I’m so tired, and I’m in so much pain…_

“Get up!” he roars, grabbing one of her arms to pull her up, the cold barrel of his gun pressed on her temple. She growls in pain through her gag as she stumbles to her feet, her legs barely holding her up, breathing in short, painful gasps. _No, I need to stay awake, I have to keep fighting, I can’t give up, if I die, she dies with me, I can’t let that happen…_ Still pressing the gun to her head, he pulls her close to him by snaking one arm under her armpit and around her body, his hand holding her dagger in front of her with the blade aimed at her belly. “If you move, if you try to escape me, the blade will slice you. Maybe you’ll bleed to death, maybe you’ll live. But that little problem of yours…” She writhes to get away from his grip, but she immediately stops moving when the sharp blade of her dagger slices through her skirt. _I won’t let him take you away from me, stay with me my little girl, give me your strength, we’ll get through this, I love you…_

“Let her go!” A shout behind her. A familiar voice. _Arno_. She sighs in relief. _Your father is here, my little girl, hold on tight._ Ruddock forces her to turn around, the blade of her dagger further slicing through her clothes. She starts to panic, her breathing coming in laborious gasps, as she feels the tip of the blade against her skin. She stares at Arno, his fierce gaze locked on her assailant, holding his sword in front of him and his blade withdrawn, ready to strike.

“Drop your weapons or I’ll shoot her!” He cocks his gun, pressing the barrel harder against Élise’s temple. She meets Arno’s gaze, silent tears running freely down her cheeks, her eyes pleading. _Arno, please, drop your weapons, I don’t want to die..._

“Let her go!” Arno shouts again, taking a few steps towards them, weapons still drawn.

“And if you come any closer, I’ll stab her. Your choice, Assassin: she dies, and that bastard of yours dies too. Or the bastard dies… and she might live.” Her silent tears turn into panicky sobs, the blade of her dagger piercing her skin, a red blood stain slowly spreading on the front of her skirt.

Arno stares deeply in Élise’s eyes, the terror he sees in them making his stomach churn. _Patience, Élise, my love._ “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The intruder snickers. “My name is Ruddock, and this bint here promised me something. We had a thing, me and her. On top of that, let’s just say your little alliance is pissing off a few people. They don’t approve of it. And other voices seem to be holding quite a grudge against her and your bastard.”

“Leave our baby out of this, this child has nothing to do with the quarrel between Templars and Assassins.” He casts a look at Élise, then turns his gaze back to the attacker. “And what could she have promised you?”

“It’s in her letter. There, see for yourself.” Pulling his gun away, he quickly reaches into one of his pockets to grab a letter that he throws in front of him, immediately pressing the barrel of his gun back against her temple. Recognizing the letter, Élise growls in her gag, shooting an enraged look at Ruddock. _You were not supposed to open this letter! I’M NOT DEAD!_

Hand held up in front of him as to ask for permission, Arno takes a few steps forward to pick up the letter. Upon reading the content, his face goes livid, thoughts shooting through his mind. _Élise, when were you going to tell me about this? What else have you kept a secret?_ “I have no idea what she is talking about. And to be honest, there’s no way I’d give these letters to you now. You should have thought about that before attacking her.”

“She promised me letters, she promised me you’d vouch for me, and I’d re-join the Assassins. And for the people who sent me, she’s worth more alive than dead, but still quite a sum. I will not hesitate to shoot her. Now drop your weapons.” Ruddock is showing signs of irritation. His voice is harsher, his breathing heavier, his movements jerkier. He kicks her behind the knee, causing her to lose balance, whimpering as the blade of the dagger slices in her flesh.

_I promised I would choose you, Élise_. Arno resigns himself to drop his weapons on the ground. “Now, let her go!” he orders.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Ruddock crows. “I never promised I’d let her go. Not before I get rid of that bastard. The Carrolls say hello, by the way. Are you ready to know what it feels like to lose a child?” Arno watches in horror as he rises the hand that holds the dagger. Suddenly, he hears a loud gunshot and Élise’s muffled scream, and Ruddock slumps to the ground, sprawled on his back, eyes open, the back of his head blown off. Élise’s catches Arno’s eyes before her own eyes roll into the back of her head, her legs giving way under her as she collapses on the ground.

“Élise!” Arno cries out, rushing towards her, throwing himself to his knees next to her inert body, removing her gag and the ties around her wrists. He takes her head in his hands, her pretty face battered and bruised. “Élise, talk to me! Wake up!” He leans forward to kiss her cold lips, tasting her blood on his own. He turns his head towards her chest, feeling her breath on his cheek and seeing her chest rise and fall. “She’s still breathing!”

“That bloody fucking thug, what a fucking knob,” Weatherall cusses behind him, holding a rifle under one arm and his crutch under the other. “Bloody hell, my poor child. She’s bleeding, you better take her inside, son. I’ll stay out here to make sure none of his friends decide to show up. Fucking _knob_.”

Arno nods, and slips his arms under her back and knees to scoop her up and carry her in his arms to their room at a very fast pace, almost running. “Stay with me, both of you. Don’t leave me…” he repeats like a mantra until he reaches their room, carefully laying her on the bed. Madeleine is waiting for him, sleeves rolled, a basin of hot water and plenty of clean washcloths and towels within her reach. “Help me take off her clothes, Monsieur Arno,” Madeleine says, her voice trembling and her lower lip quivering. Her movements are calm and assured, only her tears giving away her true emotional state. They settle into the task of undressing Élise, gasping and sighing as they uncover more cuts, bruises and marks. At once, Élise begins lamenting, crying out in pain, sitting squarely in bed. “You’re hurting me!” she sobs.

“Élise, you’re awake!” he says, taking her head in his hands and planting a kiss on her forehead. “I thought I lost you…”

Élise chuckles lightly, her smile turning into a grimace at the pain shooting from her ribs. “I’m right here, Arno, what are you talking about?” She looks down on her body, her dazy eyes noticing she’s half undressed and covered in cuts and bruises. Upon seeing the blood stain on her dress, she starts to panic. She clutches at Arno’s arm. “What happened to me? Arno, what happened? Did something happen to the baby? TELL ME!”

Arno takes her by the shoulders, carefully laying her back onto the bed. “Élise, calm down. You were involved in… an incident, out there on the rooftop garden. You really don’t remember anything?”

She breathes heavily, each breath a torture. “Remember what? I was just reading a book… Who did this to me?”

“First, I need you to calm down. Breathe slowly, you’ve been kicked pretty badly in the ribs, among other places. Madeleine and I just need to finish undressing you, she’s going to take care of your wounds, and you’re going to be okay. Trust me. Breathe. Slowly.” Her gaze locked on Arno’s tender eyes, she begins to calm down, her breathing slowly returning to normal. He kisses her softly. “There you go."

When they finally reach the cut left by the blade of her dagger, they are relieved to find out it was a relatively superficial cut. Seeing the cut, another surge of panic comes over Élise. “The baby, is the baby okay, oh God, please tell me the baby is okay...”

He reaches to cup her face once more, staring in her eyes. “Shhhhhh. Look at me, Élise, eyes on me. Calm down. The baby is fine. You’ve got a nasty cut down there, but it’s just a flesh wound. Don’t worry. Breathe. Slowly. Do it for me.” She nods, taking a few deep breaths, wincing in pain. She tries to lie still, but her whole body is shivering from the shock.

Madeleine then proceeds to carefully wash off the blood and the dirt from her body. Her nervous chatter filling the heavy silence in the room. “I’m so sorry, Madame Élise, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need to clean up those cuts you’ve got on your face, and on your arms, and on your hands. And on your knees. It’s probably going to sting a bit.” Élise nods, recoiling each time the pain becomes unbearable. “Then, I’m going to take care of that cut on your belly, and I’m going to give you fresh clothes, and warm blankets. How does that sound?”

Élise smiles faintly, her eyelids getting heavy, the pain and today’s events wearing her down. “Sounds great, Madeleine, thank you.” She closes her eyes, falling quickly into a slumber.

“Monsieur Arno, you need the doctor to have a look at Madame’s wound. She will need stitches.” Madeleine says in a low voice, while cleaning and bandaging Élise’s cut carefully, not wanting to wake her up.

Arno nods. “Please have him fetched as soon as possible.”

“As you wish. In the meantime, I used a special pomade my old mother used to make. She was a bit of a healer. It always worked miracles. Monsieur Arno, I’m sorry to ask you this, would you hand me a clean chemise from the linen chest?”

“Of course, Madeleine,” he says, smiling. He comes back a short moment later, carrying clean clothes and several wool blankets. “You mentioned blankets earlier…”

Madeleine smiles broadly. “Very good, thank you. Would you also help me by holding her up…” she says, holding the chemise ready to pass over Élise’s head.

Arno sits next to Élise, slipping his hands under her armpits, pulling her close to him. She opens her eyes, crying softly in pain, burying her head in the crook of his neck, still half asleep. He can’t resist kissing her shoulder, breathing in her perfume. “Don’t get too comfortable in my arms, my love, we need to put your clothes back on,” he whispers in her ear. She reluctantly leaves his embrace, whimpering as she tries to hold her arms up to allow Madeleine to pass the chemise over her head. She reclines back onto the bed, moaning and wailing, as they cover her with blankets.

“If you need anything, just give me a shout, Monsieur Arno,” Madeleine says, gathering the dirty washcloths and putting the basin aside. As she passes next to him to leave the room, Arno puts his hand on her arm to stop her. “You saved her life today, Madeleine. And you saved our baby’s life too.”

She waves her hand like it’s no big deal. “Who on Earth would want to do this to Madame Élise, and threaten her child like that? Who on Earth?”

“There is more to Élise and myself than what meets the eye. Maybe it’s time we finally tell you who we really are,” Arno replies, watching over his wife from a chair he pulled next to the bed. _And there’s definitely more to Élise than I even knew myself..._

“I still don’t understand, Monsieur Arno. I still don’t understand.” She leaves the room hurriedly, shaking her head.

Arno can’t take his eyes off Élise who is resting peacefully, in stark contrast with the ordeal she experienced earlier. He hears Weatherall approaching. The older man puts a hand on Arno’s shoulder, and hands him a folded sheet of paper. “She’s going to make it, son. Don’t worry. You know how strong she is. And… this looks like the second page to the letter, it was in his pocket. I looted it from his body.”

Arno gives Weatherall a quick smile, taking the letter. “Thank you, Freddie. You saved her life and the baby’s life too. We owe you.”

Weatherall takes a few steps towards the door. “I’ll leave you two in a _tête-à-tête_. And I’ll arrange for the body of that fucking knob to be collected. I’m right downstairs if you need me. Family, remember?”

Arno nods, pulling his chair closer to the bed, taking Élise’s hand in his, kissing it softly, placing his other hand on her belly, barely touching it. Once Weatherall is sufficiently far down the corridor, he finally allows his tears to roll freely.

* * *

**September 19, 1794**

Arno watches over Élise all night, not allowing himself to sleep a single second, providing for her every needs. He helps her turn around in bed, fetches her some water, fluffs her pillows, and checks her bandage. The bleeding has stopped and the wound looks clean, a dozen of stitches zigzagging under her belly button. His back is aching from sitting on the chair for long hours, but he doesn’t want to lose sight of her.

As the morning comes, he is dozing off on his chair when Élise calls his name. “Arno?”

He jolts up, blinking and shaking his head rapidly, trying to chase the sleep away. He feels a pang in the pit of his stomach when he sees the extent of her injuries in daylight. Her cheek is swollen and purple, extending to around her eye, with a thin red mark where the gun hit her. Her lip is cracked and her chin is scraped. Her arms and legs are covered in bruises and cuts, and red burn-like marks circle her wrists. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. Do you need anything, my love?”

She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Do I look that bad?” she asks, frowning.

“You’re still beautiful to me. Even all black and blue,” he replies, brushing some strands of hair away from her eyes.

“Charmer!” she says, chuckling lightly, then grimacing. “Please don’t make me laugh, every breath I take is a torture. I must have cracked my ribs at the same place as the last time..."

"The last time?" he asks, puzzled.

She waves her hand. "It's a long story. Years ago."

He gets up to sit on the edge of the bed, scrutinizing her cuts and marks one by one. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks, checking her cheek and her eye.

“Besides the usual nausea, and of course the fact that literally everything hurts... I just wish I remembered what happened. Arno, who did this to me? What did they do to me? Tell me everything you know, please.”

He sighs. “Maybe not remembering is a blessing, Élise. Your attacker is dead. Freddie shot him.”

“Good old Freddie. But what happened?”

“You were alone in the rooftop garden, and a guy who called himself Ruddock attacked you.”

Élise gasps upon hearing the familiar name. _No, he can’t have done this to me, I trusted him, I saved his life, he owed me..._  

“You probably tried to defend yourself with your dagger, but he got hold of it,” Arno continues. “When Madeleine alarmed us, she saw you lying on the ground, gagged, and your hands tied, getting quite a beating from that thug. When I arrived, he had you up on your feet, a gun pointed to your head and your own dagger aimed at your belly.”

She automatically puts her hand on her belly, feeling the bandage. “That’s how I got this cut then.”

He nods. “You must have moved, or stumbled, but somehow it sliced through your clothes and your skin. That asshole clearly had for mission to kill the baby, and to kill you only if necessary. It was more about sending a message than anything else.”

She looks at him in shock. “But why? Why kill our child? She hasn’t done anything to anyone, she’s innocent!”

He couldn’t help but smile at hearing her call the baby ‘she’. “Apart from our actions, we being together seem to have angered quite a few people. And there’s no better symbol of unity than a child. _He_ represents something that very few people agree with. And this Ruddock also mentioned something about us knowing what it feels to lose a child.”

Élise frowns. “Did he mention any names?”

“The Carrolls say hello, he said. Does that mean anything to you? Élise, what’s going on?”

She sighs, wincing. “It’s a very long story. Family enemies. Let’s just say I killed their daughter. Years ago. And they’ve done everything in their power -- of which they have plenty -- to make my life impossible ever since. What I don’t understand, is why Ruddock would turn against me. How could I be so naive as to trust him…?”

“What is this?” he says, handing her the letter she wrote to Ruddock, to be opened in case of her death.

Blood drains from Élise’s face upon seeing the letter. “Did he give this to you? Of course he did.” She groans in frustration. “He wasn’t supposed to open this letter! I’m not dead, am I? And now you read it…”

“So you knew him? And yes, I read it,” he says nodding, a faint smile on his lips. “Quite eerie to read a letter you were supposed to send me from your grave.” He pauses, his smile disappearing. “I also realize how little of you I know. And it worries me that your life is even more in danger than I estimated. I had no idea you made so many enemies.” He takes her chin between his thumb and index to force her to look at him. “Were you even planning on telling me one day about all those ‘long stories’ of yours?”

She shrugs, turning her head away. “Maybe. Maybe not. Not this way, that’s for sure.”

“Élise, we are married. We’re going to have a child. We can’t have secrets for each other,” he says, a stern look on his face and a harsh tone in his voice.

“All right,” she snaps. She tries to roll on her back, moaning in pain. “I guess Ruddock made my decision for me. You are right, Arno, we have to leave. As soon as I possibly can get out of this bed without too much pain. I don’t care if I have to endure cracked ribs on a bumpy road all the way to the South of France. I will not let anyone near our baby. And we’ll stop by the Palais de la Misère to pick up my belongings. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

“Good. Glad you finally made your decision. But let me be very clear about one thing: we need to trust each other. You made quite a scene at the notary’s study, when we signed the marriage contract, saying that you couldn’t trust _me_. It’s my turn to say the same.”

“Arno, I’m sorry…” she says in a plaintive voice, staring in his deep brown eyes.

“Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.” He sighs. “Speaking of the notary, he told me yesterday we can still go ahead and sign the paperwork for the sale of the Café without our own original copy of the property act. I’ll just have to arrange for him to pass by here on the agreed day for the signature, as I am not leaving you alone ever again. We should be able to leave within a couple of weeks, but _only_ if you feel good enough to travel.”

“Now that’s good news,” she says before returning and deepening his kiss, the contact of his lips on hers and the warm softness of his tongue inside her mouth making her shiver.

“I don’t think now is a good time, and remember what the doctor said,” he chuckles, breaking the kiss.

“And I was also supposed to avoid upsetting situations. Arno, I just need to feel you close to me. To feel we’re both alive. Lie with me, my love," she pleads.

He sees that fear and that sorrow in her emerald eyes again. _So much going on in that head of yours, even more than I thought…_ He kisses the tip of her nose. “I guess I could use a couple of hours of sleep.” He crawls into bed, lying on his side next to her, his chest resting against her shoulder, his arm laid on her stomach, just above her bandage. His arm rises and fall with each breath she takes, as she feels his warm breath on her neck.


	7. Au revoir, Paris (E)

** **

**Art by[Trying-to-holler-at-me](http://trying-to-holler-at-me.tumblr.com)**

**September 20, 1794**

Madeleine walks out of her masters’ room carrying a heavy tray, a worried look on her face. Élise refused to eat her breakfast and barely touched her tea. When Madeleine tended to her wound, she barely acknowledged her presence, only lamenting if she was experiencing pain. She looked pale, withdrawn. Madeleine tried to engage the conversation, commenting on the weather, tonight’s dinner, and the kittens that are sleeping in a basket next to the furnace in the kitchen, anything to pull Élise out of her torpor. “I just want to sleep, Madeleine,” is all Élise said when Madeleine was done applying pomade and putting clean cloths on her wound. With a heavy heart, Madeleine gathered all her supplies back on her tray, and left the room. “This is not good, the poor Madame. This is not good, not when she is with child,” she mutters.

She sees Arno coming towards her. She places her tray on the small table in the middle of the corridor, and waves at him. “Monsieur Arno, I was just with Madame Élise and…”

Seeing her worried look, Arno frowns. “How is she this morning? She was still sleeping when I got up.”

Madeleine shakes her head, grabbing Arno’s arm. “The poor Madame. Monsieur Arno, she is not well. I am worried about her. She didn’t speak a word, she didn’t even look at me. I know, I’m a servant, I shouldn’t even expect her to speak to me or even look at me, but if I may, Madame Élise is not herself since…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, choking back tears.

“I know, Madeleine,” he says, patting her shoulder to reassure her, trying to hide his own fears. “She seemed in good spirits yesterday morning, but as the day progressed, I could feel her slipping away.” He pauses, sighing loudly. “She just needs time. Is she sleeping now?”

She nods. “This is so unfair. Madame Élise doesn’t deserve what happened to her. I can’t believe someone would want to take revenge on this sweet girl.”

“Élise is not as sweet as you think she is,” he says, chuckling lightly. “As I said, there is much more to Élise and myself than what you see on the surface.” He scans their surroundings, making sure no one is in proximity. “Leave the tray here. Follow me to the training room, quietly. I’ll explain everything.”

They walk to the training room, Arno closing the door behind them. Madeleine looks wide-eyed around her, impressed by all the weaponry and training equipment on display. “If I can be honest, I never really paid attention to this room before, Monsieur Arno, as I’m not the one tending to it.”

“I know. And? What do you think? What are your first impressions?” he asks.

She hesitates. “It all looks so very dangerous. And they are all yours, those weapons?”

He nods. “Please, have a seat,” he says, pulling a chair for her at the small table. She sits down slowly, clearly intimidated by her environment. He sits down next to her, looking at her straight in the eyes. “What I’m going to tell you, Madeleine, is a secret. You cannot talk about this with anyone, except perhaps Mr. Weatherall.”

“Is he part of this… secret?” she asks, frowning.

“Yes, he is.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. Where to start? How to summarize their life stories in such a way that the poor woman won’t run away and hide after learning she’s been serving murderers? “Élise and I are members of enemy factions that have been at war, so to speak, for centuries.”

“Enemies?” she exclaims. Arno nods.

“Élise comes from a very powerful noble family. Her father was the leader of a special secret order, the Templars. Have you ever heard of them?” he asks.

She nods. “I’ve been working here for many years, and I’ve heard the name being whispered around. I never paid attention to it, I was just minding my own work. I never asked who these people were. This is not my business.”

“Good. Then one day, when I was a young boy, my father was murdered.” Madeleine gasps. “I was then an orphan, having lost my mother at a young age. Monsieur de la Serre, Élise’s father, took me into their family.”

She looks puzzled. “How can you be enemies if you were raised together?” she asks.

He smiles. “That’s a very good question. I will give you an answer shortly. Élise and I were indeed raised together at the beginning. Her father had taken me under his wing, teaching me swordsmanship skills, among other things. But a few years later, after her mother passed away, she was sent to a boarding school. And whenever she was home, I was barely allowed to see her. I didn’t understand why at the time, I know now that she was receiving a special training, in order to follow in her father’s footsteps and eventually lead the Templars. ”

“Oh Monsieur Arno, this is so very sad. You losing your father and your mother, and then Madame Élise losing her mother…”

“If only this was the end if the story,” he says, sighing. “Then one day, many years later, Élise’s father was murdered.”

“No!” she cries out.

“And somehow, I ended up locked up at the Bastille on suspicions of having killed him.”

She covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes open wide. “Did you...?”

He smiles faintly, shaking his head. “No, of course not. But while I was in prison, I met a man who knew my father.” Whatever was left of his smile vanished at the thought of Bellec. He closes his eyes, trying to put aside the feelings of guilt and pain raising in the pit of his stomach. “Through this man, I learned my father was a member of the Assassins, another secret order, and as I said earlier, enemies of the Templars.”

“Ah, I definitely heard the name being whispered around here too. And you joined them,” she concludes.

“Yes. I escaped prison, and I joined the Brotherhood, hoping they would help me find who killed Élise’s father. To tell you the truth, the Café has been in the hands of the Assassins for several decades. And in the years that followed, Élise and I had intermittent contact, but ultimately, we were both going after the same thing: avenging her father. You have to understand that Élise’s father was killed by a man who was blinded by his extremist views. Within both orders, there were moderate voices, who were preaching for a potential alliance between Assassins and Templars, for the greater good of France. Élise herself was one of these voices. Her father, while not clearly believing in unity, was on the side of the moderates.” He pauses to look at Madeleine, who is staring at him with a frown. “Are you still following? I’m sorry, I know this is quite complicated…”

She smiles faintly, fidgeting with her apron. “You are right, Monsieur Arno. This is quite difficult to understand for a simple person like me. I don’t understand why a man would want to kill another man because he wants to stop a war. I lost my dear husband to a battle. He left me alone with our young children. I was lucky I found work serving noble families who would offer room and board for me and my children. It has been tough, raising the children on my own. Wars are only making victims. No one ever wins.”

“You are absolutely right, Madeleine,” he says, nodding.

“Did you kill him, the man who killed Madame Élise’s father?”

“Yes, Élise and I killed him.”

She flinches and shudders. “Is it why she was attacked the other day? Because you killed that man? Or is it because she was like her father, one of the moderates as you call them?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. If I can be honest with you, Élise has kept a lot of secrets to herself. As I said earlier, we barely saw each other until we joined forces to defeat her father’s murderer, and I now realize I’ve only scratched the surface of what she’s been through all these years. She seems to have made quite a few enemies.”

“But why did that man try to cut her open? Why would anyone want to kill an innocent child?” she asks, tears pricking her eyes. “This is so unfair. Enemies or not, no one should be allowed to kill an innocent child.”

“I don’t know all the details, Madeleine, but I believe there is an element of retaliation. From what Élise told me, she killed the daughter of an influential English Templar family several years ago. And going back to the alliance between Templars and Assassins… nothing represents an alliance better than a child conceived in love. The voices against the third way are still very strong. I believe they were trying to send us a message, to stop us from making any sort of promotion of the alliance, to stop us from attempting at making a claim to power. Not that we were ever planning to do that.” He looks away for a moment, his face grim and his brow furrowed. He thinks of Élise and of the baby, and how he almost lost them to the hands of a thug-for-hire with an historical affiliation with both factions. _How ironic_ , he thinks to himself.

“Monsieur Arno,” Madeleine begins hesitantly. “What about Sir Freddie? Who is he?” She immediately blushes, her cheeks turning bright red. Her affection for the man is growing day by day, but upon hearing their backstory, she is beginning to be afraid of finding out who he really is.

“I have to admit Élise knows him much better than I do. But he is a good man with a good heart,” he says with a reassuring smile. “He is a Templar, like Élise. A friend of her family. He was her trainer, her advisor. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of contact with him. But I know Élise trusts him. He is like a surrogate father to her. I don’t think you need to be afraid of him.”

She sighs in relief, her cheeks still flushed. “That’s good to hear.”

“Madeleine, I hope that now you understand why we have to flee Paris, Élise and I.  When we learned she was pregnant and we told you we had to leave, I know it sounded like complete nonsense to you.” She nods. He touches her arm, anticipating her reaction to what he will have to tell her. “In two days, I will sign the documents relating to the sale of the Café. Élise and I are leaving as soon as possible after that, when she is healed enough to travel.”

She looks down, her hands still fidgeting with her apron, her chin trembling. She knew it would happen, she knew they would leave. Yet, in the back of her mind, she refused to believe it. She refused to believe they were in danger, as they said they were. She refused to believe she would never see them again. His words, Élise and I are leaving, hit her like a wall of bricks.

“Madeleine, are you alright?” he asks, worried about her silence.

She nods, wiping a tear rolling down her cheek with her thumb. “I knew this would happen… but I refused to believe it. I will miss you, Monsieur Arno. You have no idea.”

“We’re not gone yet,” he says with a smile. “There is still a lot to do. And I’ll need your help. Especially if Élise isn’t in her best disposition.”

“The poor Madame. Of course I will help you and Madame Élise, just tell me what I need to do. That’s what I’m here for, that’s my work. I just want to do my work.” She pauses. “I should probably go back to the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner will not prepare itself!” she says cheerfully, trying to mask her sorrow.

“Of course.” They both get up to their feet, entering Arno’s room on tiptoes, flinching when the door makes a cracking sound, afraid it would disturb Élise’s sleep. Madeleine bows silently at Arno and leaves the room rapidly to go back to work.

Arno approaches the bed slowly, his heart sinking at the sight of her bruises and her marks, that same feeling of pain and guilt hitting him each time he lays his eyes on her since the attack. He sits down in the chair next to the bed, watching her sleep for several minutes, his gaze locked on her chest rising and falling with each breath. _Alive. She’s alive_. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispers, reaching out to stroke her arm. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. But you are strong. Don’t give up the fight.” He rises to his feet, leaning over her to place a soft kiss on her forehead. She frowns in her sleep, but the kiss doesn’t wake her up. Sighing heavily, he turns around and walks out of the room.

* * *

  **September 22, 1794**

“Élise, wake up, you have to get ready…”

She feels a hand on her shoulder shaking her lightly, and she groans as the pain and discomfort from her injuries suddenly wash over her as she emerges from a deep sleep. She opens her eyes and finds Arno sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, smiling affectionately. She tries to move and change position, but the stabbing pain in her left side is bringing her to tears. _Why can’t he just leave me alone? I was perfectly fine sleeping. No pain. No fear. Completely numb..._

“Arno, go away, I want to sleep,” she moans.

“But the notary will be here in about an hour.” He takes her hand in his, stroking it gently. “I’m not leaving you alone out here, you have to come downstairs.”

"Everything hurts..." she laments in a plaintive voice. She turns her head to look away, avoiding his gaze.

"I know, my love, but if you want to leave Paris next week, you have to get up, get dressed and start moving. Even if it's just very slowly..."

"I don't want to go downstairs. I just want to sleep..." she says impatiently, now staring at him squarely in the eyes. _The pain, I need to numb the pain… Arno, please go away..._

"You practically haven't moved out of this bed for days! And you haven't been eating anything!" he exclaims, holding her gaze.

“Will you just leave me alone? I’m suffocating, Arno. And can't you understand the only time I don’t feel any pain, is when I sleep? Can't you understand the only time I can forget about what happened to me and the baby, even if I don't remember anything of it, is when I sleep?" she shouts. She winces in pain, immediately regretting lashing out at him. She knows he is trying to help, to reach out to her. And maybe she needs his help more than she cares to admit. But since the attack, she feels broken and disheartened, and the physical and emotional pain is too much to bear.

“Forgive me for wanting to protect my wife and child, who were brutally attacked just a few days ago,” he says firmly. “And yes, actually, I do understand. Which is exactly why I’m trying to get you out of this bed. He never wanted to kill you. His goal was to crush your spirits. You are alive and you’re stronger than this, Élise. Don’t let him win.”

She stays silent for a moment, pondering on his words. He is absolutely right: she can’t let herself fade away. Not with the baby still growing strong inside her womb. Not because of the crazy actions of someone she thought she could trust. She is hating herself for trusting Ruddock, and for allowing herself to be vulnerable. She let her guard down, and it proved to be an almost fatal mistake. But she is alive, the baby is alive. In a few days, they will leave Paris and embark on their journey to find a new safe haven for their little family. She has to be brave. She has to find the strength to fight for her life and the baby’s. Clinging to these thoughts, she musters the energy to smile faintly. “All right. I’ll make an effort, and I’ll go downstairs, if it pleases you. But you have to help me get dressed.”

“I should probably fetch Madeleine…” he says, chuckling lightly.

Her smile broadens. “If you want to travel alone with me, you’ll have to learn how to lace up a corset, not only loosen it…”

“What am I getting myself into?” He laughs out loud, then pauses, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry for being so overprotective.”

“Always have, and probably always will,” she says, poking his leg with her finger while shaking her head. “I know you mean well, but you’ve been keeping us locked up within the four walls of the Café like we’re precious keepsakes. I need some breathing space, it’s driving me insane... ”

He reaches to take her chin between his thumb and index. “You and the baby are so precious to me, words can’t even describe it. I promise to let you breathe… if you promise me to keep fighting.” She nods. “Now, where are your clothes?” he adds, getting up to his feet, looking around the room.

“Everything is on the back of the chair in the corner of the room.” She tries to sit up, clutching her belly and her side, trying to avoid as much pain as possible.

He helps her put her clothes on, giggling as his clumsy fingers try to thread the laces of her corset through the eyelets. Once she is ready, he helps her to her feet, holding her by the arm when she threatens to fall because of a dizzy spell. “I don’t mean to rush you, but the notary will be here any minute now. I have to go to meet the intendant beforehand,” he says while checking his watch.

She gives him a reassuring smile. “Just go. I’ll follow you downstairs… eventually.”

He kisses her lips quickly, his hand caressing her bruised cheek. “Take your time. As long as you get out of this room. And please, eat something."

“I will. I promise. Now go! You don’t want to be late!” she says, waving her hands in front of her, sending him away.

He blows her one last kiss before sprinting out of the room and rushing down the stairs, the weapons attached to his belt making a clicking noise at each of his steps. 

* * *

After descending the stairs slowly and carefully, avoiding as much pain as she could, Élise goes to her favorite table of the entire Café: one that was away from the blazing sunlight and relatively far from the kitchen, so the flow of waiters and other workers wouldn't be a nuisance.

She still doesn’t feel the slightest need to be out of bed, but now that she is, she is determined to make the most of it: perhaps watch the preparations for the evening play, or hope that a pleasant company would show up and save her from the boredom and loneliness that had seemed to come along with her pregnancy. She sighs, the conflicting feelings in her heart making her head spin. On one hand, she wishes Arno would just leave her alone, but the man was so in love with her and the child that it would be heartbreaking to shove him off. And on the other hand, she did spend most of her days alone the past weeks, up in their room or sitting in the garden, Arno being busy with running the Café, or sorting out the wedding or their departure. There’s a constant emptiness in her heart and soul that can only be filled by his presence, yet this presence often feels overwhelming.

Frederick was a few meters away, making some small talk with a fellow Englishman customer who seemed not to have any appointments for the day, but he excuses himself and comes to sit by his former apprentice, knowing she wouldn't refuse his company.

“Good afternoon!” she greets him enthusiastically once he was close, attempting to hide her previous thoughts.

“Good afternoon! How are you feeling?” Freddie sits down with a thud and sets his crutches aside.

Élise sighs. “Coming downstairs was agonizing, but Arno wasn’t allowing me to stay up there alone, and I suppose I need to get moving. I would have preferred to stay upstairs, but he insisted.”

“Are you sure you are going to be recovered enough to travel next week?” Weatherall asks, a worried look on his face.

“No, I’m not. But we have to…” Weatherall sighs, he knows she is right. She continues. “Thank you, Freddie. For saving my life and the baby’s the other day. I never really had a chance to thank you properly.”

He shrugs. “I did what I had to do. Couldn’t let you die out there now, could I?”

She smiles faintly. _Always there to save me, from myself or from others. Good old Freddie._ “But now that we are leaving, for sure… What are you going to do, by the way? Are you going back to England?”

He leans on the table with his chin on his hand. “I don’t know. I left for England because I didn’t have any reasons to stay in France. We had parted ways after a fight. I thought I’d never speak to you ever again. I… I had almost written you off. And I suppose you could say I was trying to escape the past…”

“But the past caught up with you when Arno showed up at your door,” she says, chuckling.

He meets her gaze, his eyes somber. “The past always catches up. Don’t imagine you’ll be completely safe out there, Élise. If I could give you one last recommendation as your advisor, it would be this one: never forget who you are. Always keep your fighting skills as sharp as they can be. You’ll need them, even if it’s just to protect your child. And don’t give Arno any slack: he’s got excellent fighting skills, but he needs to keep them up. For everyone’s sake.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to engage in a sword fight any time soon! But you are right. We can’t let our guards down,” she says, nodding.

“Good girl. Now to answer your question… I’m thinking of staying in France. But I wouldn’t know where, to be honest.”

“You could stay in Versailles…”

He chortles. “Alone? In that huge house that you’ve completely abandoned years ago? It must be in such a terrible state at the moment. And I’m too old to ever bring it back to its former glory. ”

“You don’t need to be alone!” she retorts with a smile.

“Wait, are you insinuating…?” he asks, his cheeks turning red.

She laughs at his embarrassment. “Oh come on, Freddie, admit it. The moment you met Madeleine, sparks were flying! And I bet she’s the reason why you want to stay in France.”

“Perspicacious as always!” They both laugh. “Yes. Madeleine is the reason why I’m considering staying in France. I never thought I’d enjoy a woman’s company that much, and certainly not at my age! She’s a chatterbox and a ball of fire, but perhaps this is what I need. After years of silence and misery, it’s time I allow myself to live a little.”

She takes his hand in hers. “I have an idea. Arno and I were planning on stopping by my dear Palais de la Misère, I need to pick up my journals and my sword, among other things. And say goodbye to Jacques and Hélène, I owe them an explanation for disappearing without giving any sign of life… Perhaps you and Madeleine could join us for this leg of our journey? I’m sure she could find work there. You’d have a roof over your head, a warm bed, and you’d have two great cooks to keep you well-fed and taken care of…”

“We’d have to ask her, but this actually sounds like a great idea. I would love to see Hélène and Jacques again, they are great and honest people.”

Élise looks at her side and notices Madeleine approaching them. “Speaking of the devil…”

“She’s not the devil!” Freddie scolds her playfully.

“Madame Élise, I’m so surprised to see you down here! How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? Something to eat?" Turning to Weatherall, she makes a quick measure and her smile widens almost imperceptibly. "Good morning, Sir Freddie.”

“Under the circumstances... A cup of your ginger tea would be lovely, thank you. And some bread. With butter.”

Madeleine nods. “Anything for you, Sir Freddie?”

“No, thank you Madeleine.”

“I’ll be right back then, Madame Élise!”

Once the maid was far enough, Élise jokes: “Didn’t you notice how she blushed when she greeted you? And if I may add, you blushed too!”

“ÉLISE!” he growls, slapping the table with his hand.

“Don’t make me laugh, please, my ribs are killing me!” Her hands fly to the sides of her torso in an exaggerated motion, but she still laughs.

“I’m too old for love!” he sighs quietly. “I just want a companion. Someone to talk to. After decades filled with intrigues, conspiracy and mourning, it may be time to live a quieter life.”

“Oh I’m sure Madeleine can provide you with plenty of opportunities for talking! I think you should seize the opportunity. You deserve to find peace, too,” she says, smiling warmly.

“After your mother died…” he starts, but Élise interrupts him.

“I know,” she says in a soft voice. “This is exactly why I say you should definitely ask Madeleine…”

“Ask me what?” Her arrival takes both of them by surprise, and so Weatherall stares wide-eyed at Élise while she has a huge grin across her face. “Your tea and your bread, Madame Élise.”

Breaking a piece of bread and bringing it to her mouth, Élise turns to look at Freddie and nods when he looks uncertain whether to say it or not. “Madeleine, do you have a few minutes to sit down with us?” Élise asks.

“Er... of course…” the maid says, frowning.

Across the table, Weatherall takes a deep breath, his hands shaking lightly. “As you know, Arno and Élise are leaving next week, and I will have to leave too…”

“Yes, I know. And I will miss you all so very much. It will be so empty here, without you. Just like before Monsieur Arno moved in. So empty, it was here. Even though he was very to himself all those years, and often gone for several weeks at a time, it was nice to finally have someone around. Just a polite chat when I would serve him his coffee. Or his favorite wine. He was always on his way to somewhere! And then Madame Élise… and then you, Sir Freddie. You’re all such a great company… And who is this new owner? Will I ever see him? It’s not my place to say this, but I wish I didn’t have to stay behind...”

“You… you don’t have to, you know…” Frederick looks down, feeling rather uncertain whether or not he should continue this conversation. Élise gives him an encouraging smile.

“What are you saying, Sir Freddie?” Madeleine asks, her frown deepening.

“There might be a way…” he says, hesitating.

Élise rolls her eyes at the awkwardness of the situation and goes straight to the point: “What he is trying to ask you is if you’d like to accompany him?”

“Élise!” he scolds.

Madeleine is shaking her head, somewhat nonplussed by the interaction between Élise and Weatherall. “I’m not sure I understand…”

Élise casts a side look at Weatherall, then touches Madeleine’s arm briefly. “Before we leave for good, Arno and I will visit some old friends of mine. Freddie was thinking of staying with them, like we’ve done in the past. They are living in a lodge near the boarding school I attended as a young girl. Perhaps you could join them? I’m sure you’d find work at the school. And you’d be in good company. Hélène and Jacques are lovely. I’m sure you’d get along with them!” She looks at Madeleine, eagerly awaiting her reaction.

Madeleine opens and closes her mouth a few times, unsure what to say. “But I’ve never left Paris! I’m just a servant, I can’t…” she bursts out, with a loud sigh.

Weatherall takes her hand in his. “Madeleine, would you accompany me and stay with me at the Maison Royale, together with our friends? I would really like you to say yes…”

She covers her mouth to stifle a cry. “Are you serious, Sir Freddie? Me?”

He nods, a shy smile on his face. “I really enjoy your companionship. And it would be a shame not pursue it, don’t you think?” Freddie winks at her, making her blush.

“I suppose so, Sir Freddie…” she says, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“For heaven’s sake, call me Freddie!’ he groans in frustration. “And is that a yes…?”

“Yes… YES! Freddie, I would really love to accompany you!” she says, nodding vehemently.

Freddie smiles from ear to ear. “Splendid!”

“But what are my children going to say?” she asks, her eyes wide in worry. “Their old mother leaving with a stranger…”

“Your children are grown up, they have a family of their own. I’m sure they will understand. And you’d be living at a stone’s throw of Versailles. It’s not like I’m taking you to England…” he snorts.

She nods, a finger up to her lips, pondering. “I guess you’re right about that…”

“Fantastic!” Élise finally speaks. She had been listening and watching their exchange with great amusement, while enjoying her first meal since… _When was the last time I ate something?_ , she asks herself. This buttered piece of bread wasn’t doing much to fill her stomach, but it was a start. Getting out of bed today proved to be a good idea after all. _I even got to play cupid!_ “If you don’t mind, I think I will go back upstairs to lie down…” she continues, feeling weary.

Weatherall smiles warmly, his eyes silently thanking her for the gentle nudge she gave him earlier. “Of course, child. You need to regain your strength and recover.”

Madeleine immediately gets up to her feet. “Do you need my help, Madame Élise? Let me offer you my arm to walk...”

Élise waves her hand in the air. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to take it slow…”

“Nonsense, Madame. Let me help you! And Monsieur Arno instructed me to never leave you alone, so I’ll stay with you until he’s back.” Madeleine comes to stand next to Élise, offering her hand for support.

Élise rolls her eyes before accepting Madeleine’s extended hand, prudently getting up to her feet. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit! Thank you, Madeleine.” She waves at Weatherall. “See you later, Freddie! And congratulations!” she adds with a wink.

He laughs wholeheartedly, waving and winking back. “Oh stop it, you! See you later, my child…”

* * *

Meanwhile, Arno is waiting for the buyer’s representative — whom Arno had known to be called Augustin, after overhearing him talk to some of the employees about the state of the Café — to arrive at the intendant’s study. Arno had already read the contract plenty of times, as handed to him by the notary, trying to make sure he wasn't missing anything. The sum of money still seemed quite unbelievable for such a small building. The intendant and notary rise upon the man’s arrival, Arno imitating them.

“Bonjour, messieurs!” The representative approaches them with a polite smile. “I hope we can be done with this quickly.”

“I expect just the same, Monsieur,” Arno says, smiling back at the man. The documents was already on the table, turned in Arno’s direction. Both already contained the signature of the notary and the intendant — _Louis, his name is Louis_ , Arno thought to himself. _How come I worked here all these years and hardly knew my own staff?_

Shaking off the guilty thoughts, he watches Augustin as the man quickly scans one of the documents in search of something disagreeable. After a few moments the man nods.

"Everything seems to be in place," he said, putting the document down on the desk so they could sign it.

"Shall I sign it first?” Arno asks.

“As you prefer, Monsieur Dorian,” Augustin replies. Arno takes the quill from Louis’ hands and dips it in the inkwell. Not having written in a while, Arno almost stains the paper with ink, and his handwriting doesn’t look its best. He groans at himself for making the document appear so inelegant. Was the buyer a member of the cockiest nobility of Paris his representative would laugh and turn away in a heartbeat, refusing to have a deal with a man-child who could hardly write his own name. The second signature looks less sloppy, but still somewhat unforgivable.

“I… forgive me, Monsieur, I’m not in my best days,” Arno chuckles nervously.

“That won’t be a problem. May I?” Arno hands him the quill and he quickly signs his name twice, his agility at the task making a self-conscious Arno blush. “So, I guess that’ll be it?”

“Yes. The ownership of the Café is no longer yours, Monsieur Dorian,” the notary confirms. “You have 10 days to vacate the property, and the new owner shall take your place in no more that seventy-two hours from the moment you leave, as stated in the document you gentlemen signed."

“I see.” Arno turns towards Augustin, his curiosity getting the best of him. “Well, I suppose you could tell me who this new owner is now, couldn’t you?”

The man gives him a wry smile, and hands him a fairly simple looking letter. “When I asked my master for permission to inform you of his identity, he said this was more appropriate. Well, I suppose he knows better. Of course, he asks you not to let this out to the public, and if you deem it necessary, burn it once it’s read so no one else finds it. Just make sure it’s safe from the hands of revolutionaries, will you?”

Arno raises his eyebrows in suspicion, but doesn’t question it. He isn’t about to disagree with the man who just gave him a one way ticket out of the madhouse that was Paris. He quickly shakes hands with the representative, the notary and the intendant, and leaves the room. Then, he walks upstairs and sits on one of the steps of the staircase, feeling something weird in his chest at all the secrecy. He opens the letter - and gasps in surprise, even though he had seen it coming.

> Arno,
> 
> Since you're so keen on finding out who's the next owner of the Café, I write you this letter. I was certain I'd never hear from you again, but when rumors were out about you leaving Paris and the Café Théâtre without an owner, I knew it would be a terrible decision not to buy it–  I have plans and could use the place in the future, as my representative has likely stated. Nothing to say for now, but you shall see what I mean in a few years' time.
> 
> I understand you leaving the spotlight in a rush - the madmen who were after you will not rest until they have your head on a plate, my friend. I once told you life is more valuable than dignity and I still stand by these words. After all you’ve done, don’t expect them to stop in their tracks because you’re soon to become a father (Surprised I know about it? Well, word’s out already but I supposed you’d know that.)
> 
> Rest assured, the Café is in good hands. I will make sure it doesn’t get wasted by any rioting revolutionaries in the future - you can count on me for that. I wish you luck in your future endeavors, and do not hesitate to search for me should you ever need anything.
> 
> I would very much appreciate hearing from you, however given the conditions, I
> 
> understand perfectly if you prefer to lay low for your last moments in Paris. Enjoy them. The weather is particularly good for this time of the year, perfect for long travels. (Don’t worry, your destination is still secret. I just assumed you’d go as far away from Paris as possible.)
> 
> Be well,
> 
> Bonaparte
> 
> P.S.: Obviously enough, I’ve also heard about your marriage and I must say you have a terrific taste for ladies, pardon my French. (Worry not, me and Josephine are deeply in love and that mustn’t change any soon – ah, were you around to hear the things I have to say about this magnificent woman!). I wish the both of you happiness and a good travel despite all the odds.

Arno chuckles lightly. “Napoleon. Of course.” He folds the letter and secures it inside one of his pockets. Then, he has an idea.

Getting up and running towards the intendant’s study, he doesn't see either of them. Rushing to the entrance of the Café in hopes of finding at least Louis talking to one of the cooks, he spots the three men at the entrance of the Café, talking quietly. Arno approaches them. He spots Élise, Madeleine and Frederick talking at a table, the last two sitting somewhat closer to each other. _So Élise finally put you two together. At last_ , he chuckles to himself.

Getting closer to the intendant, the notary, and the representative, he clears his throat to catch Augustin's attention.

“I, um… don’t suppose your master would mind if I replied to his letter, wouldn’t he, Monsieur?”

Augustin smiles. “As a matter of fact, he advised me you might. Should I stay and wait or come back later?”

“I don’t know… this might take a while. Do you mind waiting?”

“Not at all, monsieur. Take your time.”

“Very well. Make yourself comfortable, have a cup of coffee perhaps. I’ll be right back!” Arno says as he rushes back to the intendant’s study. There, he takes a quill and the first blank paper he finds, and starts to scribble furiously hoping his thoughts won’t evaporate. This time he doesn’t mind his handwriting.

> Paris, September 22, 1794
> 
> Napoleon,
> 
> First of all, I want to thank you for buying the Café. All the renovations carried out made the place much more valuable, but the price you paid for it has me believing you wanted to help me and Élise somehow. In other times I would've taken offense, as if you were taunting me for being wealthier. But I have painfully grown wiser since the last time we met. And I can't deny any help right now, can I?
> 
> Moving on to the crux of the matter, I do want to ask you one last favor. Us moving to the countryside is mostly an attempt to start a new life, and as much as I appreciate you having my back, I'll have to do things on my own from here onwards. You remember the old Temple, don’t you? I expect you do. There is in there some sort of a cave, a basement, similar to the catacombs in a way. In it, you will find a vault, and by opening it (simply turn the cross on the door 90 degrees clockwise), you will enter old ruins. It doesn't concern me what you do with this place, but know that you will find a corpse in there. This is François-Thomas Germain, and I need you to get rid of him by whatever means you see fit. Just make sure he is gone. I trust you to do this.
> 
> Élise and I are not leaving for a few days, as you probably know. If you'd like, we could meet one of these days. We'd be happy to have you around.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Arno Dorian

* * *

**September 25, 1794**

Élise sighs in satisfaction as she carefully lowers herself in the bathtub. One week after the brutal attack, the cut left by her dagger on her belly was finally healed enough to allow her to take a bath, the hot water immediately easing the tension in her muscles and the soreness in her bruised limbs. She leans back, gripping the edges with her hands and closing her eyes, letting her mind wander to the muffled sound of the music coming from the Café. She was grateful for this moment, all by herself, away from all the agitation surrounding their departure, scheduled for the next week, and away from Arno’s watchful eye. She had to admit that his attempt at forcing her to get up and out of bed to regain her strengths had been helpful. She takes a few deep breaths, grimacing lightly at the discomfort from her cracked ribs. She then lies as still as possible, quickly falling asleep, the hot water bringing her to a deep state of relaxation.

She wakes up with a start several minutes later as she hears footsteps in the room. “Goodbye quiet times…” she mumbles.

“Élise?” Arno calls. “I’m just sorting some paperwork, don’t mind me.”

“Liar. I know you’re checking on me!” she says, unable to hide her annoyance.

A few moments later, he appears next to her holding a pile of registers and papers. “No, my love, I’m really sorting through paperwork. And it’s quieter up here.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” she says with a faint smile. _He really won’t leave me alone..._

“I’m afraid not. I’m just going to sit at the desk over there, ignore me,” he says, pointing at the desk next to the bed.

She nods, giving him a quick smile before he turns around to return to his business. She washes up rapidly, as the water was getting cold and she honestly couldn’t wait to go back to bed. Struggling to get out of the tub because of the pain, and worried she could aggravate her ribs injury, she calls Arno for help.

“This is embarrassing, but could you help me out of this tub?” she asks sheepishly.

He takes her extended hand in his, gently helping her up to her feet in and over the tub, handing her a towel. His eyes linger on the cut and the stitches below her belly button, the wound still red and slightly swollen but otherwise healing well. Then, his eyes notice something that he refuses to believe at first. But this time, there is no mistake. A broad grin appears on his lips as he spontaneously puts his hand on Élise’s belly, his fingers caressing the wee bump.

“Hello, baby,” he says in a soft voice, his eyes never losing sight of this new curve of her body.

“Arno, what are you doing?” she asks, drying herself with the towel.

He looks up to meet her gaze, slipping his other hand behind her head to pull her in for a kiss, impatient to share his happiness with her, the love of his life. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

She chuckles. “Noticed what?”

He leads her to the mirror, taking her by the shoulders to make her face the mirror sideways, letting the towel drop to the floor. His hands travel down her arms and glide over her stomach, cupping the tiny bump, careful not to touch her wound. “Look. Don’t you see it?”

She stares at her reflection, her eyes initially only seeing the large bruises on her body, visual reminders of the ordeal of the week before. Hidden under layers of cloths covering her wound, she hadn't noticed the small — but now definitely apparent — curve of her stomach. Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle a cry, her heart filling with emotion. Looking down, she places her hands on top of Arno’s, smiling tenderly. “Hello, my little girl.”

“Son. I swear, we’re having a boy,” he corrects, kissing the top of her head.

“Does it matter?” she asks, laughing. “We’ve been through a lot together, the baby and I. And yet, he or she is still growing strong. This baby is stronger than I am.”

She turns around to face him, wrapping her arms around his waist and the small of his back, burying her head in his chest. He carefully coils his arms around her shoulders, afraid of hurting her. “Let the baby give you the strength to fight,” he says before kissing her forehead.

She nods. “I owe you a thank you for kicking me - thankfully not quite literally - out of bed the other day. You were right. I can’t let Ruddock or the Carrolls win.”

“And we’ll keep on fighting, together,” he says, smoothing her hair. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy holding you in my arms, especially when you’re naked, but I really need to get back to the paperwork,” he adds after a pause.

She chuckles. “What are you busy with anyway?”

“The always exciting balancing of accounts, among other things. And we have to replace Madeleine, too. I’m glad she’s coming along with us and Freddie. I’m happy for them, they both deserve some good in their lives.”

She tightens her embrace around his back, not wanting to leave the comforting warmth of his body. As much as she wished he would leave her alone just minutes ago, now she doesn’t want to let him go. “Can’t the intendant take care of the paperwork and all of that?”

“His name is Louis, by the way, did you know that? And yes, he can. But there’s too much work, and we need to be done by tomorrow evening. I’m just helping out.”

“I’ll leave you to your important business,” she pouts. “And I’ll go to bed. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

“Let me know if the lamp bothers you. I suppose I could go work in another room, if you want me to.”

She shakes her head, reluctantly letting go of him. “You can stay. And watch over me while I sleep,” she says with a smile, walking towards the bed.

He steals a kiss from her lips before swiftly going back to his books behind the desk. She carefully crawls into bed, wincing and grimacing as she tries to find a comfortable position. Once she settles, she puts her hand on her belly like a cradle, soothing herself to sleep.

* * *

**October 1st, 1794**

Their room was cluttered with trunks and chests containing their belongings, in anticipation of their departure the day after: clothes, books, journals and papers, medicines, preserves and household items, among other things. Élise is humming a melody as she meticulously folds her clothes before placing them in a large wooden trunk. Her movements are slow and precise, trying to avoid pain. She is far from being completely recovered from her injuries, but her stitches have been removed a few days ago, her bruises are healing well or have vanished already, and her cheek is only still slightly tender. Earlier that day, she noticed the curve of her stomach was somewhat more pronounced than the week before, and the knowledge that baby was still growing inside her womb was comforting. For the first time since they found out she was pregnant, she woke up without feeling nauseous, which allowed her to finally eat a hearty breakfast. But the road to recovery and regaining her strengths will be arduous.

“Madame Élise, we have something for you,” says Faustine, standing in the doorway, holding a large basket in her hands.

Élise gasps in surprise, a large smile appearing on her face. “What is this? You can put in here” she says, pointing at the top of the largest and sturdiest trunk in the room.

“Madame Élise…” Faustine begins, as she hoists the basket on top of the trunk. “We… well, Madeleine and I, and some of the other maids, we just thought you might need a few things. For your journey. And… after.” The young maid blushes and giggles, visibly nervous.

Élise puts her hand on the maid’s shoulder. “Thank you, that is so generous and kind of you. What’s in it?” Filled with curiosity, she peered inside the basket, first pulling out large fitting dresses and woolen blankets. She nods. “Yes, I will definitely need these dresses when I’ll get bigger! And it’s going to be cold in that carriage.” Then she notices the baby layette at the bottom of the basket. She pulls a tiny shirt from the lot, smiling broadly, her eyes slowly filling with tears. “And yes, I had completely forgotten about the layette, what kind of mother will I make?” she says, sobbing and smiling at the same time. “Thanks to you wonderful women, I’m all set now.” She hugs Faustine as tightly as her injured ribs allow her to.

“Oh, Madame Élise, you’ve always been so kind to us. I’m sure you will be a great mother, don’t you worry,” says Faustine, smiling shyly.

“And I will miss you all very much.” Élise sighs heavily. “Thank you.”

The young girl bows her head. “Do you need my help with packing, Madame Élise?”

“No, thank you. I actually quite enjoy it, after weeks of feeling lonely and useless, it’s finally giving me a sense of purpose,” she says, chuckling.

“As you wish, Madame. I will go see if Madeleine needs my help. She’s quite excited about leaving, you should hear her. She can’t stop talking about it,” Faustine confides, laughing under her hand before turning around and leaving the room.

Élise shakes her head. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit!” She laughs out loud, her heart filling with joy at the thought of her old friend having found a great companion in Madeleine. _And may you live happily ever after_ , she thinks to herself. She suddenly feels dizzy — she has been standing on her feet for hours after all, sorting through their clothes. “Perhaps I should take a break in the company of my favorite gentlemen,” she mutters under her breath. With the baby shirt clutched in her hands, she walks to the training room where she finds Arno inspecting various weapons, from swords to rifles, with Weatherall sitting nearby, giving his expert opinion on what their base weaponry should be consisting of.

“There will be wolves out there, son. You better bring some good, reliable long-range rifles,” says Weatherall, while Arno compares the weight of two rifles.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?” Élise says as she approaches Arno.

“Better be safe than sorry, my love,” he says, taking her by the waist to pull her close. “Hey, what are you holding in your hands?”

She holds the tiny shirt in front of him. “The women of the Café gave me a complete layette for the baby. Isn’t it just adorable?” she asks with a large grin.

He takes the shirt from her hands — in his large hands, the shirt looked even tinier. “It is indeed adorable,” he says, running his fingers over the minuscule sleeves, smiling widely. “It’s so small.”

She wraps her arm around his waist. “And to think you were once small enough to fit into one of these! Look at you now!”

Setting the shirt aside, he slides his hand behind her head, pressing his lips on hers. “Having you both in my life makes me the happiest and luckiest man in the whole world. I love you.”

“This is all very moving and heartwarming, but I don’t think we’re done here, son,” Weatherall grumbles while rolling his eyes. He was playing the grumpy old man, but deep inside, he couldn’t be more delighted for them. _They do make one lovely couple_ , he thinks to himself. His thoughts wander to Madeleine, and a faint smile appears on his lips. He never thought he’d find a significant other after so long.

Arno gives Élise a quick kiss. “Freddie here is right, I really need to go back to sorting through the weapons. I wouldn’t want to forget anything.”

“All right, all right, I will leave you two men to your essential work, while I take a stroll in the garden for some fresh air,” she pouts, grabbing the baby shirt back. “Just don’t forget to pack my sword, my pistol and my dagger, please. I will not leave without them.”

Arno chuckles. “They are right there in the box. Don’t you worry.”

While both men resume their conversation, Élise walks towards the doors to the garden, a slight apprehension tightening her gut. She hadn’t set foot in the garden since the attack. She prudently steps outside, holding her breath. The air is cool, making her shiver. She folds her arms across her chest. As she steps towards the bench where she was sitting that dreadful afternoon, she feels her chest getting heavier. Suddenly, several buried memories of the attack flood her mind: his arm around her neck and choking her, the barrel of his gun against her temple, falling to the ground, and the hard tip of his boots digging in her sides as he was kicking her. Stopping in her tracks, she lets out a loud cry before choking and gasping for air, feeling her hands and feet going numb. She can feel the physical pain from the aggression all over her body, while her mind is paralyzed with fear. _Breathe, Élise, breathe_. She can hear Arno’s voice in her head, imploring her to calm down.

“Élise, is everything okay?” Arno asks from the door.

“Y… yes,” she manages to say between short gasping breaths. She is avoiding his gaze, trying to hide from him, but his senses are on alert and he immediately notices something is wrong. With long strides, he rushes towards her then grips her shoulders firmly, turning her around to face him. Her breathing is ragged, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Élise, breathe, my love, breathe. What’s the matter?” he asks while taking her head in his hands, staring deeply in her fearful eyes. She tries to speak, but there is no sound, only sobs. “Did you remember something, is that what happened?” She nods before letting out a long, wailing cry. He holds her in his arms, smoothing her hair. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. It’s not your fault. Just breathe. Listen to me.”

“He had his arm around my neck, he was choking me… and he kicked me… and I was so afraid… I didn’t want to die, I don’t want to die...” she says between sobs.

“Shhhhh. You’re alive, the baby is alive. Let the past be the past. Think about the future. Happy thoughts. That tiny baby shirt in your hands, think about when you’re going to dress our baby with it for the first time. In our new house. Safe.” He kisses her forehead, tightening his embrace. With her head buried in his chest, his comforting arms around her body, and his soothing voice in her ears, she can feel her heartbeat slowing down, the pressure in her chest subsiding, and her breathing becoming more regular.

After several minutes, he senses the tension in her body easing away. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Now let’s go back inside, into our room, where it’s warm and safe. And let’s just finish packing.” She nods, attempting a weak smile. Holding her by the waist, they walk side by side back to the entrance to the training room. Weatherall is standing on his crutches, aside from the door, a worried look on his face. Arno meets his gaze, his eyes telling a story of a thousand words. _She’ll be alright._ The old man nods, before returning to the rifles aligned on the table.

In their room, Arno helps her sit down on a chair next to the trunk with the basket resting on top. With a smile, he checks the content of the basket, pulling out more shirts, and several sleeping robes and diapers. “They made all of this for us? It’s all so small…” he says, chuckling. “Where do you want to put this? In the trunk here? Would that be all right?” He tries to divert her attention back to the here and now, keeping her mind busy with the preparations by talking to her constantly. Her eyes are following him and she is responding to his chatter with quick smiles and nods, but she is clearly struggling. Her hands are absent-mindedly fidgeting the baby shirt. “Ah, warm blankets. We can certainly use many of those,” he continues. “Are these new dresses?” he asks, pointing at the pile on the bed.

She nods, her smile widening slightly. “Large dresses for when I’ll be huge,” she says in a low voice.

“You? Huge? I don’t think so,” he laughs, while roughly folding the layette and placing it in the trunk.

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been in the garden that day,” she says, out of the blue. She is hanging her head low and looking down in shame. “I shouldn’t have trusted him, I shouldn’t have killed their daughter, I shouldn’t have endangered our baby, I shouldn’t have…” She covers her eyes with her hands and begins crying.

He turns and kneels in front of her, gripping her hands to uncover her face, obliging her to look at him. “Élise, listen to me. If you listen to me just _once_ in our entire lives, let it be now. _It’s not your fault_. All that pain, all that fear, all that rage, all that guilt that you are carrying, it’s eating you from the inside. For far too long. You are not responsible for what happened to you. You are not responsible for your mother passing away. You are not responsible for your father’s death — if there’s someone who should feel responsible, it’s me, but let’s not go there again. You are not responsible for Ruddock turning against you. You are not responsible for whatever happened to you over the past years and anything else I don’t know about yet. And that Carrolls daughter, wasn’t she that little bitch you were telling me about when we were children?” She nods. “Then you’re not responsible either. She had it coming,” he adds with a smile.

She chuckles lightly through her sobs, then smiles in amazement. Could he be right? Could it be that simple to free herself from this burden on her shoulders, from this constant knot in her stomach? All she has to do is stop dwelling on the past, forgive herself, and move on. _Easier said than done_ , she thinks to herself. She set a hand on the side of his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. “How did you know? How can you read me so well?” she asks, looking at him with teary eyes.

He shakes his head. “I still can’t read that stubborn mind of yours, my love. You are barely letting me in. But I’d like to think I’ve finally broken the surface.”

She pulls his head close for an open mouth kiss, threading her fingers in his hair. He responds to her kiss by pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Will I ever get better?” she says softly, breaking the kiss.

“You will. In time.” They exchange smiles before he rises to his feet. “Do you mind if I go back to Freddie and the weapons? I can call in one of the maids to come help you. And I’m right there if you need me. I just have to get this over with.”

She nods, taking a few deep breaths. “Yes, of course you can go. And I’ll be fine. I suppose.” She gets off her chair slowly, resuming the packing of their clothes and the presents from the maids. She needs some time alone, to think, to digest, and to process the images and the emotions that are tumbling through her mind. _Concentrate on the future_ , she repeats to herself.

He gently pats her back before returning to the training room, where Weatherall is waiting for him. The old man heard everything of their conversation and he had to give it to Arno for succeeding where he always failed miserably: getting through to Élise. “Let’s finish this quickly. I’m sure Madeleine is wondering what is taking us so long,” Weatherall says.

Arno carries through packing the weapons in silence, his mind preoccupied. He is relieved for breaking through Élise’s armor, at last. But he knows this is only the beginning of a long, winding path to healing.

* * *

**October 2nd, 1794**

Élise stares at the ceiling, fully awake, her heart still beating hard in her chest. A loud noise coming from the street, possibly a gunshot, woke her up, and it was making her nervous. _Why is a gunshot making me so edgy? It’s not like I’ve never heard the noise before_ , she thinks to herself. She carefully rolls to her side with a whimper, her hands resting under her cheek as she lays her head on the pillow, facing Arno’s bare back. He is sound asleep, the sheets bunched around his waist and legs. She chuckles lightly at the sight of him. _My Arno, always tossing and turning and moving around in his sleep. I wonder if our children will be the same as their father. Or will they be like their mother, lying awake in the middle of the night?_

She sighs, wishing she could get back to sleep. Her eyes study every scar, every mole, and every muscle of his back. She reaches with her hand, tracing each line of his scars with the feathery touch of her fingers, wondering about the story behind them. Had it been painful? Had it been a rough fight? _From now on, I’ll be the one tending to your injuries, my love. Like a good wife would do._ She moves closer, until her lips make contact with his skin just between his shoulder blades, inhaling his musky scent, moaning softly in appreciation, the fire of desire igniting deep inside of her. Her hand glides up to his neck and over his shoulder, while her lips leave a trail of kisses along his spine and his upper back, feeling the knots of his muscles under her touch. _Will your shoulders be solid enough to support me and the children into our new life? Will your arms be strong enough to hold us, to protect us? Of course they will… how can I even doubt you?_

She rests her forehead against the back of his neck, nuzzling his hair. Her hand continues to travel along his body, down his arm and his waist. She smiles and bites her lower lip when the palm of her hand reaches his arse, letting her touch linger over it, before moving to his thigh. _Will your legs be sturdy enough to stand tall in the face of adversity? Of course they will…_ She sighs deeply, her breath making his hair move. She slowly lets her fingernails scrape over the edge of his hip bone. _And will your hips be firm enough to push yourself deep and hard inside of me when you fuck me?_ She giggles and lets out a soft moan at the thought of him inside of her, immediately pressing her lips together to silence herself. She shifts her legs, her thighs rubbing together a little, the increased pressure on her clit making her shiver and intensifying her screaming desire for relief. “Arno, I want you, I need you…” she murmurs before gripping his waist and arching her back, her nipples brushing against his skin, hardening instantly. _How can you sleep so deeply that you don’t even notice me touching you?_

She lets go of his waist, raising her hand to her cup her breast, running her thumb over her nipple and squeezing her soft flesh, imagining it was his rough calloused hand on her breast instead of hers. She squirms lightly at the touch, a low whine escaping her lips. She moves her legs again, consciously pressing her thighs together repeatedly for added friction, her breathing now coming in short little gasps. “Arno, Arno, Arno…” she whispers as she brings her fingers between her legs. Her fingers coated with her wetness, she rubs her pulsating little nub in circles, the wave of pleasure rising in her core leaving her panting. Desperate for release, she rubs faster and harder, picturing it was Arno’s hand stroking her, urging her to a climax. Grinding her hips against her hand, she brings her lips down to press wide open mouth kisses on the back of his shoulder, her tongue flicking to taste the saltiness of his skin. She cries softly when she hits her climax, biting into his flesh, pushing her fingers deep inside her heat to ride her orgasm, feeling her inner muscles contracting around them, her thighs clamping tightly around her wrist. Eyes closed, mouth open, her ragged breathing subsiding, she pulls her fingers out and brings them to her mouth, licking them clean one by one, purring in satisfaction.

Arno shifts in his sleep, rolling onto his back, his shoulder now resting against her breasts, lips parted and snoring lightly. She props her head on her hand with a sigh, resuming the careful study of his scars, this time on his chest and stomach. _This one is so close to your heart, did I almost lose you, my love? Were you scared of dying when the blade hit you? Were you thinking of me?_ A shiver rolls down her spine and a tight knot forms in the pit of her stomach at the thought of a life without him. _I once thought I could live without you, that I didn’t need anyone, that I didn’t need saving, but I was wrong. I can’t. I need you. You complete me. Save me from myself, I promise I’ll let you in._ She leans over to kiss him softly, running the tip of her tongue along the line of his full lips, and cupping his jaw with the palm of her hand. His eyelashes flutter lightly as he stirs awake, smiling tenderly when his sleepy eyes focus on her green gaze. “Élise…” She doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, her eager mouth impatient to make contact with his lush lips again and deepen the kiss. She crushes her lips on his, his mouth welcoming her darting tongue. Their kiss goes on, tongues swirling around and around, her hand moving from his jaw to his neck, her fingers twining in his hair. Gasping for air, he breaks the kiss, caressing her cheek with his fingers. “What was that for?” he asks with a smile.

“Did I ever tell you your lips are insanely attractive?” she says, her finger tracing the curve of them. “I want you,” she urges, suddenly pushing her whole body against his, her hand swiftly travelling down over his chest and his stomach, stopping its course to draw lines with her fingers just above his cock.

He groans at the way she is tormenting him, feeling his cock harden and thicken, yearning rushing through his body. “You’re still recovering, and after what happened yesterday…”

“Arno, I need it, please,” she pleads in a low voice.

He chuckles. “Are you begging?”

“I’m not begging…” she says, shaking her head. Slowly but surely, trying to avoid any abrupt movement that could hurt her ribs, she raises to her knees, pushing the bed covers aside, throwing a leg over his hips to straddle him, biting her lower lip as she grinds her core against his shaft. “I’m not begging, I’m demanding. And I’m going to get what I want,” she orders, her lustful gaze locked on his dark eyes.

He gasps and he feels his cock twitch at the contact with her wetness. He sits up straight, his hands coming to rest on her arse, squeezing her fleshy cheeks. “Be reasonable. You could injure your ribs again, and we’re setting off in just a few hours.”

“One last time in this bed, where we conceived our first child?” she asks with a coy smile before pressing her lips on his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“An invitation… that is hard... to resist….but…” he says, punctuating his words with quick kisses.

She moans in annoyance. “But?”

“Do you even trust me to be gentle and not hurt you?” he asks in a raspy voice before slapping her butt cheek with the palm of his hand and gripping it firmly.

She shrieks in surprise, then purrs in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe. “No, I don’t,” she admits with a chuckle. “You always begin with the best of intentions of being gentle…” She wiggles her hips back and forth, rubbing her clit against the head of his cock. “But you always end up fucking me senseless and shattering me into a million of pieces. Not that I’m ever complaining.”

The tantalizing friction sends a shiver down his spine. He takes her head between his hands, staring deeply in her eyes. “You have to promise me to say ‘stop’ if you’re in pain.” She nods with a faint smile. “And just lean on me if you get tired. I’m serious, Élise. I don’t want you to be hurt.” She nods again as he pulls her face closer for a kiss, his tongue sweeping over her bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. Lips locked on his, she lifts herself carefully, seizing his throbbing cock in her hand and aligning it with her entrance, letting herself sink on it inch by inch, eliciting low groans from both of them. Once he is fully encased inside of her, she takes a moment to revel in the feeling of exquisite completeness, like the last puzzle piece finally falling into place, before leaning against his chest, their arms coiled around each other in a tight embrace.

“It’s been a while you woke me up in the middle of the night for this,” he teases, his hands moving down to rest on her hips, his fingers digging deeply in her flesh.

“I told you, I really need it. Especially after what happened yesterday. I need to feel you close to me, I need to feel your heart and mine beating, I need to know we’re both alive,” she says with a moan as she begins to move her hips, his cock sliding in and out of her. Slowly and languidly at first, gradually increasing her momentum as she tests the limits her injured body is capable of enduring. He pushes down on her hips, allowing his cock to reach deeper every time. She tilts her head back, his lips immediately assaulting the exposed skin of her throat, his teeth nipping at the curve of her neck, his hands gliding up to catch hold of her breasts. She hisses as he mashes them together and brings her nipples to his mouth, suckling on them avidly, his tongue flicking and teasing. All of a sudden, he halts his movements and lets go of her breasts, making her groan in frustration. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Your tiny bump is pushing against my stomach,” he says, chuckling lightly. “I have to get used to the idea that I’m fucking my _pregnant_ wife.”

“Arno, I’m almost 12 weeks pregnant, how much time do you _exactly_ need to get used to the idea?” she asks, slightly miffed.

“You weren’t showing yet, it was as if nothing had changed. But now-”

“But now, my belly is growing and it’s making you uncomfortable about touching me, is that it?” she interrupts, crossing her arms over her chest, awaiting his answer.

“No… I mean, yes, it does make me uncomfortable, I’m sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

“You better get used to the idea right now,” she retorts, resuming the slow grinding motions of her hips. “I’m not going to stop wanting you, and my belly is only going to get bigger,” she adds before sliding her hands behind his head, threading her fingers in his hair, pressing her lips against his. He responds gladly to her kiss, their tongues rolling together again. “Make love to me, fuck me, make me scream, make me feel alive,” she whispers in his mouth.

“I will not remain gentle for much longer if you keep on speaking to me like that” he murmurs, his hands running up and down her back, lingering on her sides, his thumbs brushing against the curve of her breasts.

“Am I having a bad influence on you?” she mocks, biting on his lower lip.

“Always have, always will,” he says, seizing her hips firmly. “And you’ll have to explain how it’s possible that I could savor that delicious taste of yours in your kiss earlier.”

“I might have been a naughty girl while you were sleeping. That’s the bad influence _you_ have on me,” she says with cheeky smile before roughly capturing his mouth for a deep kiss, her hips now moving furiously as she slides up and down his cock, her clit rubbing against his coarse pubic hair. She moans in his mouth as he palms her arse, pressing his fingers into the soft skin, pushing harder, faster, and deeper, each movement better than the last.

Releasing his mouth, she rests her forearms on his shoulders, loud cries escaping her throat, feeling a tidal wave of pleasure rising, stronger than she ever felt before. The pressure building up inside of him is agonizing, both in his gut and in his balls, his movements rapidly becoming erratic, his grunts echoing in the room. “I’m going to come hard, oh God,” she pants just seconds before she is overcome by a powerful orgasm, her whole body jerking uncontrollably, tears pricking her eyes, goosebumps rolling across her skin. With a loud growl, he follows her immediately, his warm seed gushing deep inside of her, while her walls clench tightly around his cock, milking him dry. Gasping and breathing heavily, their lips join one last time before he lets himself fall onto his back, taking her with him.

“Are you tired?” she says with a smirk, as she slowly leans forward to rest on top of him, her head buried in his neck. She can feel his heart beating fast in his chest. _He’s alive. And so am I. And the baby is alive too. We’re going to be alright…_

“It’s the middle of the night, of course I’m tired,” he says, gently running his fingers along her back.

“I’m sorry for waking you up. I just… needed it. To forget.” She rolls off to lie next to him with a whimper, as he pulls the bed covers over them.

He gives her a worried look. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she says hurriedly before grimacing and clutching her side. “Ok, I’m lying. My ribs do hurt a little bit. But not more than before, I’ve just been breathing a bit more deeply. And I might have made a wrong move when you made me see stars. Don’t worry, my love,” she adds with a faint smile.

He shakes his head. “Élise, if you injured yourself again…”

She puts her index on his lips to silence him. “Shhh. Not now. Let’s just sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”

He grabs her index, pushing her hand away, moving closer to kiss her lips softly. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” she says, smiling tenderly, before they both settle comfortably lying side by side, in the hope of catching a few more hours of sleep before the _grand départ_. 

* * *

They wake up in a tangle of arms, legs, and sheets, the agitation coming from inside and outside of the Café stirring them out of their sleep. He groans and rubs his eyes before checking his watch. Looking at the time, he swears under his breath. “Élise, we overslept, wake up,” he says while shaking her shoulder.

“I’m awake, I’m just… nauseous,” she mumbles. _Yesterday’s nausea-free morning was too good to be true,_ she thinks to herself.

“I hate having to tell you this, but you’ll have to make an effort to get dressed regardless. We’re already way behind schedule,” he says, hopping out of bed.

She moans exaggeratedly, then rolls to her side and drops her legs off the bed. She takes a few deep breaths and pushes herself up, grimacing at the pain coming from her side, sitting still on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting the wave of nausea pass over her.

Meanwhile, Arno washes up quickly and scrambles for his clothes. “Why didn’t anyone wake us up this morning?” he grumbles.

“Perhaps because Madeleine isn’t working here anymore as of today? She was the one waking us up...” she chuckles between deep breaths.

“You’re probably right. And everyone else is busy because of us!” he says, putting on his shoes. “Do I need to send someone to help you? I have to go play supervisors and make sure we don’t forget anything.”

She shakes her head. “I have a front-lacing jump so no need for anyone to help me with it. All my clothes are right here. I’ll meet you downstairs. I just need… to breathe.”

“See you later then!” He kisses her lips swiftly before rushing out of the room.

She remains seated with her eyes closed for several minutes. Once she is certain the wave of nausea has eased away, she gets out of bed and washes her face. The contact of the cold water on her skin is invigorating. “You can do this, Élise,” she murmurs.

She walks across the room, to where her clothes are draped over an armchair. For their departure, she purposely selected her trusted blue coat and waistcoat, her favorite shirt and her beloved breeches. “Hello, old friends,” she says with a smile, her hand smoothing the leather collar of her coat. “I’ve missed you!” She buttons her shirt, laces her jump up and puts on her stockings, then slips on her breeches. She was hoping they would still fit despite her growing belly, but she soon finds out she’s unable to button them. She groans in frustration.

“Élise, what’s taking you so long?” Arno asks behind her, an impatient tone in his voice.

“I… I’m trying to get dressed,” she says, holding her breath and her stomach in, trying desperately to button her breeches.

He laughs. “Are you trying to put on your old clothes?”

“Yes, I am!” she shouts back. “I’m not travelling wearing a damn dress with a tight corset! But obviously, I’m too fat for my breeches now…”

“Élise, if there’s something you’re definitely not, it’s fat. If I may, I’d even say I’ve never seen you so thin. It’s not healthy, not for you, not for the baby. You’re not eating enough, you-”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” she interrupts, pointing an angry finger at him. “It’s not my fault if I’ve been sick every morning for the past weeks. It’s not my fault if I’ve been in so much pain lately I lost any appetite I had left. And for your information, I’ve been much thinner before, but you don’t know about it, because you weren’t there,” she adds, her tone somewhat calmer, stepping out of her breeches and tossing them aside.

“Have you? I’d like to hear that story…” he says, leaning his back against the wall.

“Aren’t we in a hurry?” she asks, while putting on her waistcoat. _At least that one still fits. Kind of_ , she thinks to herself, while buttoning the last buttons with difficulty over her belly.

He nods. “Yes, we are. But it’s not often that you open up to me, so I’m not letting this chance pass me.”

“You remember I told you I cracked my ribs before?” He nods. “Well, it happened when I jumped off a bridge and landed on the side of a boat, trying to escape a nasty situation I got myself into. Then I was forced to take a swim in the Seine, catching a fever that nearly killed me, and left me with only skin on my bones. It took me several months to recover from it. I’d say even a year. Or more.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “I really had no idea.”

“There’s so much you don’t know…” she says with a sigh.

“And plenty of time to hear all about them when it’ll be just the two of us, and the long road to the South of France,” he says, chuckling. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear a dress?”

She moans in annoyance. “I don’t have a choice now, do I?” She opens the trunk where she put the dresses she received from the maids. She hadn’t really looked at them the day before, assuming they would all be too big, but now her eyes notice a midnight blue velvet skirt. She pulls it out from the pile and holds it in front of her. “Well, maybe I could wear this....” Snatching a petticoat from the lot, she walks to the mirror, stepping into her skirts and fastening the ties at the waist. She gives her reflection an appreciative look. “Hand me my coat, please!”

His lips curled in a smirk, he grabs her coat from the armchair and hands it to her, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms across his chest. She puts her coat on over her waistcoat, smiling in satisfaction, turning around to see herself from all angles. “Actually, I quite like it! What do you think?” She turns towards him with a broad grin on her face, swaying her hips.

He looks at her with loving eyes, smitten to the core. “You look very pretty,” he says, taking her by the waist to pull her close. “Like the old Élise I know, but ready for a new adventure. A new and improved Élise.”

“I’m still the same old and flawed Élise, I’m just a bit more damaged now,” she says, her eyes suddenly veiled with sorrow.

“You’ll get through this, believe me,” he says softly.

“Why am I like this? I’ve been beaten, threatened, almost strangled, I’ve killed left and right, and it didn’t do anything to me… Why am I so broken this time?”

“You’ve lived through far more drama than any normal person could handle. And you haven’t forgiven yourself for any of it. That burden on your shoulders is simply getting too heavy. Concentrate on the future, Élise. And just accept that you look amazingly pretty in this skirt, will you?” he says, kissing the tip of her nose.

She smiles faintly, then blushes. “Sweet talker!” She pulls away from his embrace, looking around the room, setting a hand on her forehead as if she needed to concentrate. “Where are my belt and my weapons? I need to carry them with me…”

“No, no, no. Élise, no. You are not going anywhere near weapons right now,” he stresses, waving his index for emphasis.

She crosses her arms stubbornly. “And why is that? I need to be able to defend myself.”

“You don’t need to defend yourself, let me take care of that,” he says. His tone is firm and uncompromising. She opens her mouth to protest, but he raises a hand to stop her. “I don’t want your weapons, especially your dagger, to trigger more memories of the attack. Not now. That’s why.”

She looks down, a shiver rolling down her spine, flashes from the memories she recollected the day before appearing in her mind. She shudders, trying to shake the images away. “I guess you’re right, we don’t want that to happen,” she admits with a pout, before taking a deep breath to calm herself.

He surveys the room, making sure they didn’t forget anything. Before closing the trunk with her clothes, she grabs a long wool cape and throws it over her shoulders. “I need to keep this baby safe and warm,” she says with a weak smile.

“I think we’re done here.”

Élise shakes her head. “My boots? Help, please? I can hardly bend over with my sore ribs.” She hands him her boots and sits on the armchair. He kneels in front of her, lifting her skirts. He slips her boots over her legs, fastening the straps one by one. “Élise, before we go, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

She frowns. “What for?”

He takes her hands in his, staring in her eyes. “I realize now I caused more harm than good by keeping you locked up between the walls of the Café. I thought I was protecting you and the baby, I thought I was being a devoted husband and father, but in reality, I was mistreating you. I look at you and I see your pale skin, your hollow cheeks, and I know how lonely you have been… I should have known better, I should have known _you_ better. You need space, and adventure, and freedom. Instead, I’ve kept you in a prison. I’m sorry,” he says with a lump in his throat.

She gives him a reassuring smile. “We all make mistakes, my love. I consented to it, didn’t I?”

“Up to a point, perhaps. But I’m the one who insisted. I promised Mr. Weatherall I would take care of you, but I’ve hurt you instead. And it hasn’t stopped your enemies from tracking you down,” he admits in a low voice.

“Arno, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. You did what you thought was best. You don’t have to be sorry. Concentrate on the future,” she adds with a chuckle.

He brings her lips to hers for a tender kiss, then looks in her eyes. “I promise I’ll do better from now on.”

“I know, I trust you,” she nods, smiling warmly.

* * *

Hand in hand, one last time, they walk down the stairs to the main floor, where all the employees are gathered to bid them farewell. All these years, their devotion and their concerted efforts helped shape the reputation of the Café, and Arno takes comfort in knowing the Café is in good hands. However, it doesn’t make saying goodbye any less difficult and he endures the succession of handshakes and accolades with a heavy heart. Élise smiles at his side, visibly moved by the affection shown towards them. Arno motions one of the boys to come closer, and instructs him to bring down the last trunk with Élise’s clothes and load it in the carriage.

They are not the only ones struggling with mixed feelings, as Madeleine is sobbing in her handkerchief, Freddie’s arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “I’ll miss them all so much. Saying goodbye to my children was hard enough, but this is also my family!” she sniffles.

“It was my family too, Madeleine,” Arno says behind her. He clears his throat. “Everyone, thank you for being all here, it means a lot to Élise and I. We’re very sorry for stealing Madeleine, I know you will all miss her firm grip,” he says with a wink in Madeleine’s direction, drawing a roar of laughter from the crowd. “You are in good hands, you can count on the new owner to treat you fairly. I trust he will uphold his promise. Now, we must go. Thank you for all the wonderful years in your company, thank you for taking good care of me.”

Élise gives Arno a nudge. “Who is the new owner, did you find out?” she whispers.

Arno chuckles nervously. _Should I tell her? No. Not yet. This is between Napoleon and me…_ “I… I don’t know, he never gave his name. But I trust him. And you should too,” he says quickly.

She raises an eyebrow in suspicion. “Right. If you say so.”

“Let’s get going, or we’ll never get there before the night fall!” Weatherall grumbles, Madeleine still sniffling next to him.

Arno nods, taking Élise by the shoulder. The four of them exit the Café and hop on the carriages that were waiting for them in the courtyard. Madeleine helps Weatherall get inside their carriage, while Arno offers his hand to Élise to sit inside theirs. As he was about to hop in, Arno hesitates. “One second. I… I forgot something.”

He rushes back inside the Café, climbing the stairs two steps at a time to his room. In a closet, he opens a drawer. Running his fingers over the fabric of his Assassin robes, he hesitates. But in a split second, his decision is made. He pulls his coat from the drawer, throws it over his shoulders, strapping his blade over the wrist cuff. On his way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror. He detaches the hood from the coat, shoving it under his arm. “Concentrate on the future,” he repeats to himself in a low voice.

“Couldn’t leave it behind, could you?” Élise asks with a smirk as he climbs inside the carriage.

“I suppose I couldn’t,” he says, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her close against him. “Are you ready? For our future?”

She nods. “ _Au revoir, Paris!_ ” she says cheerfully, settling comfortably in his arms for the journey.


	8. Endings And Beginnings (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't initially meant to be published on its own, it was meant to be the first section of a longer chapter. But as the rest of the chapter developed, I felt like this one deserved its own space, even though both chapters are definitely linked.
> 
> Apologies for the slow updating -- life, writer's block, etc. The usual. The next chapter should be coming soon, as it's almost finished. Sort of.

**October 2, 1794**

Élise whimpers in Arno’s arms. Despite the extra blankets and cushions, she can hardly find a comfortable position in the carriage. “You’ll have the carriage to yourself tomorrow, my love,” Arno says to reassure her. “More space to completely lie down.”

She frowns, then cringes as the wheels hit another bump on the road, making the carriage jolt. “And why is that?” she asks, confused.

“Because I’ll be driving the carriage. Did you think I’d ever find a driver would take us all the way to the South of France? I had to pay this one a fortune for him to agree to sell us the carriage and the horses.”

“You did WHAT?” she shouts. “With what money? How much did this cost you?”

He chuckles. “Élise, calm down. We need transportation, I arranged transportation. We can resell the carriage with or without the horses once we reach our destination. Don’t worry, there is still plenty of money.”

She closes her eyes and sighs, trying to calm herself down, but her frustration is only growing. “We should have talked about this. We’re married, we have to make decisions together, may I remind you. It’s in the damn contract you had me sign…”

“Hey, that last comment about the contract is uncalled for,” he shouts back, sitting straight and glaring at her. “I didn’t talk to you about it because I didn’t want to add to your worries. I wasn’t going behind your back. I had to make this decision for both of us, and I’ll take the entire responsibility for it. Otherwise, we would have never been able to leave Paris.”

She holds his gaze, then bursts out in laughter. “We’ve travelled 2 miles and we’re already fighting…” she says, shaking her head. “How long before we’re holding each other at gunpoint?”

He smiles nervously, but he doesn’t laugh. “Don’t make jokes about guns. Not after what happened,” he reproaches.

Her smile vanishes. “Right. I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly. She distractedly looks through the window of the carriage, her eyes jumping from one sight to the other in the streets of Paris, as if she was trying to gather as many memories as she could.

“You didn’t even look at your villa when we passed by,” Arno notes, reaching for the basket containing food and grabbing a piece of bread. “Didn’t you want to say goodbye?”

She shrugs. “I also didn’t get the chance to visit my parents’ graves one last time before we left. I just want to get out of Paris as soon as possible.” She closes her eyes, covering her mouth with her hand to repress a wave of nausea. “The smell of the streets, the people, it makes me sick… I’m so tired of being sick… I’m so tired of being in pain… I’m just so tired...” she laments.

He caresses her arm, handing her a bite of bread. “Try to eat something. Maybe it will help.”

“Thank you. But I’m not hungry,” she says impatiently.

He slides closer to her, taking her chin between his thumb and index to turn her face towards him. She opens her eyes and sees his dark, grim gaze. “Will I have to force feed you?” he asks firmly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorts, slapping his hand away from her face. She moves and sits further away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He groans in frustration. “You promised you would eat. Take this damn piece of bread and eat it, please!” He takes her hand in his and shoves the piece of bread in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

She glares at him with squinted eyes. “All right, I’ll eat,” she hisses before taking a large bite out of the piece of bread. “Happy now?” she says with her mouth full, chewing angrily.

He moves closer to her again. “Yes, _yes_ , I am. But it’s not for me that you need to eat, it’s for the baby. And for yourself. I just wish you weren’t so difficult about it.” He lets out a loud sigh. “Can we start over? All we’ve done since we left is fight…” he adds, chuckling lightly.

She takes another bite of bread, chewing slowly this time. She had to admit just these two bites were enough to make her feel better, she felt the nausea easing away and she could think clearly again. _I hate it when he’s right_ , she thinks to herself. “Arno, I’m sorry, I just feel like a complete mess. One moment I want to cry, the next I want to punch you in the face… and the next…” She turns towards him, gripping his collar to pull him closer, pressing her lips on his for a passionate kiss. “And the next I just want to kiss you,” she adds softly.

“A kiss is much nicer than a punch in the face, let me tell you that,” he teases. “Even if that punch comes from my beautiful, yet fiery-tempered wife.”

“May I have more bread?” she asks with a large grin.

He touches the tip of her nose with his index. “Of course you _may_ have more bread.” He reaches for the basket again, tearing a larger piece of bread and handing it to her. “Anything else with it? We have some cheese…” he adds, peering at the content of the basket.

“Oh cheese, yes please,” she blurts, her eyes wide open in anticipation, snatching the bread and cheese from his extended hand.

“You _were_ hungry!” he says, watching her eat her bread and cheese with appetite.

She shrugs, swallowing her food. “Perhaps I was. I just didn’t _feel_ hungry. But now I have to admit, I’m ravenous,” she admits with a smile, biting in her piece of bread.

“So…” he begins hesitantly. “Where and how did you meet Hélène?”

“Pfew, that’s probably the longest story of them all. I’ll spare you the details for now, but I was on my way to England, and this poor girl was in a nasty situation. I saved her life. And she stayed with me ever since. More or less. When I didn’t disappear… But she’s been a true and honest friend. My _only_ friend, I should say.”

He holds a hand up as to stop her. “Wait. When and why were you going to England, _alone_?” he asks, a bewildered look on his face.

She chuckles while taking a bite of cheese. “When? Not long before my father died. And why? Because I was going after the people who tried to murder my mother when I was a child.”

He’s always known her as headstrong and fearless, but going to England alone at such a young age, he didn’t quite expect that from her. Or maybe he did. _She’ll never cease to amaze me,_ he thinks to himself. “Did your father know about this?”

She looks down for a moment before answering. “He died not knowing about this escapade, bless him. It’s probably for the better. Freddie knew, of course. He’s the one who facilitated it all.”

“And did you ever find out who tried to murder your mother?” he asks with a smile.

“Oh yes, I did…” she answers quickly.

“And….?”

“It doesn’t matter, he’s dead now.” She looks away, chewing her lip nervously.

He glances at her, his eyes suddenly opening wide upon realizing who she meant. “Hold on. Ruddock? You’ve got to be joking! And you trusted him? After he tried to kill your own mother?”

She glances back at him, rolling her eyes. “I needed help. Sometimes you have to trust people even though you know you shouldn’t. I even trusted the Assassins, didn’t I? And everyone makes mistakes, Arno. You don’t need to remind me of this one, it already left me scarred for life,” she says sorrowfully, placing a hand on her stomach.

“As if you needed more scars…” he says softly, delicately caressing her cheek.

She smiles faintly, tilting her head to rub her cheek against his fingers. “Look who’s talking. Your body looks like a map. Not that there’s anything wrong with your body, with scars and all...” she adds with a cheeky smile.

He laughs nervously, feeling his cheeks flush. “I suppose I’ll take this as a compliment.”

“And you should”, she says with a large grin, before reaching for the basket to take more bread and cheese, reclining on the seat, smiling at the thought of being reunited with her friends, even if it means saying goodbye the next morning.

* * *

The carriages roll through the main gate into the courtyard of the Maison Royale. Through the window, Élise waves at Hélène and Jacques who are standing next to a gravel path. The carriages stop in the middle of the courtyard, the horses neighing. Arno is the first to step out, offering his hand to help Élise carefully climb down the carriage. As Élise rushes towards her friends with open arms, Arno helps Madeleine out of the carriage, both in turn offering their help to Frederick Weatherall, who follows in Élise’s footsteps as quickly as his crutches allow him. Madeleine and Arno follow suit, feeling somewhat uneasy, like intruders happening to stumble upon a reunion of old friends.

“Am I glad to see you again!” Élise says with a large smile, embracing Hélène as tightly as she possibly can. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Returning her smile, Hélène blushes slightly. “I’m so relieved to see you here! I hadn’t received any news from you or Sir Weatherall for so long, I was worried something really bad happened to you. Then your letter arrived, saying that you were leaving Paris…”

“I’m so sorry for not writing earlier, it’s been very complicated,” Élise admits, contrite.

“Has it ever been simple?” Hélène notices Arno standing behind, nervously kicking the dirt with his foot. “Is that…?” she asks under her breath. Élise nods with a twinkle in her eyes, her cheeks turning bright red. “He’s even more handsome than how you described him!” Hélène exclaims, her loud admission making them both giggle like teen girls.

“I suppose he is…” Élise says smiling, biting her lower lip. “Arno? Come here, my love, let me introduce you…” He takes her extended hand in his, their fingers interlacing. “Hélène, Jacques, this is Arno, who I told you about, my childhood friend and…” She hesitates, casting a side look at Arno. “And my… husband!” she finally adds.

Hélène gasps loudly, her hand covering her mouth. “But… When? How? I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners, very pleased to meet you Monsieur and… congratulations, of course!”

“Pleased to meet you, Hélène. Jacques,” Arno says timidly, shaking hands with Élise’s friends.

“As I said it’s been… complicated,” Élise explains, looking down to her stomach, unable to bring herself to announce her pregnancy just yet.

Hélène looks at both Arno and Élise, finally noticing the loose buttons on her waistcoat, and realizing Élise is wearing a loose skirt and not her usual tight-fitting breeches. Her eyes open wide in surprise, but she bites her tongue before saying anything.

“And as I said in my letter, we are also bringing along a good friend from Paris, Madeleine,” Élise continues. “She’s hoping to find work around here. She can help you take care of the lodge, Hélène. And take care of our old friend Freddie, who I managed to bring back from England. Well, Arno did.”

“I’m not _old_! I’m crippled, but I’m not _old_!” Weatherall grumbles, patting Jacques on the back and hugging Hélène. “It’s great to see you again, good folks.”

Hélène and Madeleine shake hands, exchanging a knowing glance. “I’m very pleased to welcome you here, Madeleine. I’m sure you can teach me a lot!”

Madeleine smiles warmly at the younger woman. “Oh don’t say that, child. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope I won’t be too much of a bother, I know I’m just a stranger. But I wish we can become good friends.”

“Certainly,” Hélène says, returning her smile. “Will you Mesdames and Sir follow me inside for a cup of tea? Jacques and Arno can take care of the horses and join us later.”

“That would be lovely. I’m thirsty!” Élise says, kissing Arno on the cheek quickly before sending him off to pay the carriage drivers, one carriage officially becoming theirs, and the other returning to Paris with their driver on board.

While Arno and Jacques unhitch the horses to stable them, Weatherall and Madeleine follow Élise and Hélène as they walk back towards the loge.

“You haven’t asked why I suddenly got married…” Élise says in confidence, taking Hélène’s arm.

Hélène shakes her head. “It’s not my place to judge who and when you marry someone, but if I may… Are you… with child?” she asks prudently.

Élise nods. “It was rather unplanned. We also had to get married in a rush and in utmost secrecy, but even that didn’t quite work out as planned. And to cut to the chase, certain turns of events are forcing us to go in exile and leave Paris.” She looks around, making sure no one could hear. Weatherall and Madeleine are trailing behind, out of earshot.  “Can I ask you something?”

Hélène frowns. “Of course!”

“Did anyone come around here a few weeks ago, asking questions about me? Where I was staying, what I was doing, that sort of thing?”

“No, no one,” Hélène replies, perplexed. “It’s been very quiet since you and Sir Weatherall left, they closed down the school and everyone went their own ways. It’s just been me and Jacques, we’re helping maintain the place for now. Until they send us away I suppose. Why are you asking? Did something happen? Are there people chasing you? Is this why you have to leave? I probably shouldn’t be asking you those things, I’m sorry.”

Élise frowns upon hearing the school closed its doors. She had hoped to say goodbye to Madame Levene and thank her for playing such an important roles of her life, despite her more than unruly behavior. “Yes, there are some people chasing us. A couple of weeks ago, I was attacked…”

Hélène stops in her tracks. ”Are you alright?”

Élise smiles reassuringly. “You know how the story usually goes: I get myself in trouble, I get badly beaten and bruised. But this strong little baby and I, we survived,” she adds, placing her hand on her stomach.

Her gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Hélène, who can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. How long had she been in love with Jacques? It’s been years. And yet, they are still not married. _Not that we can afford to get married anyway_ , she thinks to herself. “With you as a mother, it’s not so surprising!” she says to Élise with a warm smile, trying to shake off her envy.

“You are very kind. But with me as a mother, this baby is in danger. We need to leave to protect our family. I wish we could stay longer, but we’re already on borrowed time.”

They arrive at the front door of the lodge, Hélène leading her guests into the kitchen, where the most delicious smell of roasting meat hits their nostrils. Élise and Weatherall settle at the table, while Hélène prepares the tea, Madeleine spontaneously offering her help.

Weatherall smiles, his chin resting on his hand. “Look at her, she’s already settling in. I think we’ll be fine here, child.”

“I’ve heard from Hélène the school closed down,” Élise says gravely. “This wasn’t expected. I’m concerned about you and Madeleine. And Jacques and Hélène, obviously. What if they kick you out, where are you going to live? What if I sell the villa to help you out?”

He turns his gaze towards Élise, his brow furrowed. “I can sell my own house and we can find another place to live in town, in Versailles, or even Paris. Don’t worry, my child. We’ll be all right. You have enough to worry about as it is.”

“It would pain me to know you’re unhappy,” Élise says, taking his other hand in hers. “I care too much about you. You’re… my father. And I’m going to miss you so much…” Her lower lip quivers as she tries to repress the tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s not the time for goodbyes just yet, is it?” Weatherall says, his voice shaky. “Let’s keep that for tomorrow…”

Hélène sets the teapot and cups on the table, along with a plate filled with cakes. Élise immediately reaches to take one with her fingers, in complete disregard of proper table manners. She bites into the moist and sugary delicacy, wiping the cream from the tip of her nose. “Gosh, these are luscious. Poor Arno, I’ll never be able to cook like that! What’s your secret?” she asks before forcing the rest of the cake in her gaping mouth.

“Listening to the teachers in school, probably,” Weatherall teases.

“Ha ha, very funny!” Élise mumbles with her mouth full.

“When the school closed its doors, I got hold of some cookery books. Take them with you,” Hélène offers, amused.

“Oh that would be brilliant. Not that I will ever be able to make anything edible from them, but I can use all the help I can get. For now, let me have another one of those cakes...” Élise says, reaching for the plate and swiftly biting into another cake, humming in delectation.

She is eating her fourth cake when Arno and Jacques enter the kitchen, shaking the dirt off their boots before joining the rest of the party at the kitchen table. Hélène immediately pours the men a cup of tea, while Madeleine passes the plate with the cakes around, taking the plate away from Élise’s reach when she tries to take yet another cake. Arno looks at Élise with a large grin, as she licks the cream and icing from her sticky fingers, a miffed look on her face. “You’ve got cream all over,” he teases, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of her lips with his thumb before bringing it to his mouth.

“Is that how you’re going to raise your children, to eat like pigs with no table manners?” Weatherall mocks, shaking his head.

“I’m hungry! These cakes are simply heavenly. And I’ll raise my children the way I want,” she answers back, crossing her arms across her chest.

“As the father, don’t I have a say in how the children will be raised?” Arno asks, pretending to sound offended. He knows very well she will be in charge of raising the children, while he is taking care of the animals and the heavy work around the farm.

“I’m afraid not…” she says defiantly before winking. She abruptly gets on her feet, grimacing and clutching her side. "Arno, come with me, let me show you around…”

“But I just sat down!” he laments, accepting her extended hand. He follows her outside the lodge, and they walk along the path towards the school and the surrounding gardens. She tells him stories of times past, memories of her adolescence that she thought were long forgotten, suddenly emerging and resurfacing as she revisits the various locations. He listens carefully, fascinated not only by her stories, but also by the energy that seem to emanate from her as she recounts them. Despite calling this place her _Palais de la Misère_ , and admitting she hated every single minute of her life here, he can tell this place will forever hold a special spot in her heart.

She leads him to bench next to a hedge and they sit side by side. He looks around, autumn leaves covering the narrow footpaths, flowers whittled and dried. “I know you were unhappy here, but I have to admit, it’s beautiful. Even at this time of the year. It must have been lovely in the summertime,” he comments.

She smirks. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. This is still a prison, where I had to be educated to become a proper noble young lady, perfect for marriage.” She looks in the distance, her expression turning into one of nostalgia. “But years later, I knocked on their door when I had nowhere else to go. And they let us in. Freddie had been shot in the leg, and…”

“Oh… So that’s when…” he interrupts.

“Yes, that’s when he lost his leg,” she continues. “This place became our safe haven. Where I plotted my revenge. And where I was thinking about you, alone in my cold bed,” she adds with a faint smile, locking her green gaze on his loving brown eyes.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, placing his warm hand on her stomach. “You are not alone anymore.”

“I know, I’ve been carrying a little parasite for a couple of months already!” she chuckles.

He rolls his eyes before bursting into laughter. “That’s not what I meant!”

“I know, my love, I’m just teasing you,” she says, smiling warmly. “I think we better go back to the lodge. I’m sure dinner is going to be served soon.”

He helps her on her feet, noticing Madeleine and Weatherall in the distance. “Hey, is that…?”

She turns her head, following his gaze, and nods. “Is that Madeleine and Freddie holding hands? Yes, it is…!” She lets out a loud sigh. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye, but at least I know he won’t be alone.”

* * *

After a delicious lively feast, where wine flowed freely and where the most embarrassing stories of Élise’s early childhood were told by Weatherall to a captivated audience laughing at her expense, everyone retreats to their room for the night. “And welcome to my bedchamber,” Élise announces as she opens the door. Her room was intact, exactly as she left it the day before they defeated Germain. Exactly as she left it after she wrote her farewell letters, packed her journals in her trunk, and said goodbye to her life for good. Or so she thought.

Arno gives an appreciative look. “Small. Cosy.”

She smiles faintly. “It’s not made for two adults and a baby…” _Two adults and a baby. When I left this room, two months ago, I thought I was going to my death... but here we are. The tree of us._

“Is this the box…?” Arno asks, pointing at the trunk on her desk, the initials EDLS engraved on the lid.

She feels a pang in the pit of her stomach. “Yes, it is,” she says quickly. “But no, you’re not going to read my journals. Not yet. I’m… I’m not ready. It would have been so much easier if I were dead...”

He frowns. “Why would you say something like that?”

She turns away from him, running her fingers on the lid of the trunk. “Once you know everything I’ve been keeping from you… there will be no turning back. If I were dead, I wouldn’t have to witness you being hurt. Or even hating me for what I’ve done… for who I really am,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion.

He approaches her from behind and lightly places his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs delicately caressing her neck. “Why would I hate you? And why would you wish to be dead? Élise, you’re not making any sense!”

She feels a wave of anxiety washing over her as she takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, trying to calm herself down. How did she let herself become so consumed by her pain and her revenge to the point of accepting that her fate was to die in battle? She couldn’t see there was so much more to life, blinded as she was by this now seemingly pointless rancor. She thinks of the baby growing in her womb, the child of unity, conceived in love at the eve of their ultimate confrontation, and she feels intensely grateful she received another chance, allowing her to witness this miracle of life. She swallows hard, her throat feeling dry and tight. “Let’s not talk about this right now, my love,” she manages in a low voice. “Please. I promise I will share everything with you, in due time.”

He kisses the top of her head and squeezes her shoulders gently, trying to ease her tension. “Of course,” he says softly.

She reaches for another box on her desk.  “Do you recognize it?” she asks as she opens the lid. Her eyes instantly well with tears at the sight of her first sword.

“Hmmm… I’m not sure…” he hesitates.

She laughs through her tears. “Oh come on, I kicked your arse with it countless times!”

“I was probably too busy getting the dirt out of my eyes to notice! You were way too good for me!”

She picks up the sword in her hand. It used to feel so heavy in her tiny hands when she was a child. She reads the inscription on the hilt, the words from her mother, repressing a sob. “Oh mother, I miss you. I wish you were here…” she sniffles before turning to Arno. “This sword is going to be passed on to our daughter.”

He chuckles. “What if we have a son first?”

“No, you don’t understand,” she retorts, shaking her head. “I don’t care if we have seven sons before we finally have one daughter -- this sword is for my eldest daughter. Along with my wedding dress, this sword will only ever be passed on from mother to daughter. Period.”

“Fine, fine. For our eldest daughter it is,” he says, amused.

She sighs, the exhaustion from the travelling and the emotions finally sinking in, leaving her feeling weak and weary. “We should get to bed, it’s late, and…”

He doesn’t answer but he takes the sword from her hand and puts the boxes away, ready to be loaded inside the carriage the next day. They undress in silence and lie close to each other in the very narrow bed. “This bed is not made for two adults,” Arno remarks, revelling in the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin brushing against his.

“It will get cold here tonight,” she warns.

“Then I’ll sleep holding you in my arms all night, so we keep warm… it’s not so bad,” he says coyly.

“You’re moving way too much in your sleep, you’re going to push me off this bed sooner or later!”

“Let me hold you now, I want my wife and my baby close to me…” he says, carefully coiling his arms around her stomach, his chest resting against her back. “Is that alright? Am I hurting you?”

She hums softly. “No I’m fine. Ugh, I hated, HATED nights here. In the school dormitories it was even worse. They would never heat up the rooms. Never. They didn’t want us to get ‘soft’. So they let us freeze to death every night to keep us orderly and disciplined.”

 _Orderly. Disciplined. Not very Élise-like qualities,_ he thinks to himself _._ “That didn’t quite work with you, did it?”

“Nope,” she chuckles before wiggling her hips, purposely rubbing her backside against his crotch.

He sighs, feeling his arousal stirring. “Élise, stop that…”

“I’m just getting comfortable, and I need a bit of space, you’re taking all the bed for yourself…” She boldly pushes her backside against his crotch, wiggling her hips lightly again for good measure. A satisfied smile appears on her lips as she feels his cock harden.

“You little minx… be careful… I might not be able to stop…” he warns, reciprocating her advances by resting his hand on her waist, pushing his hips against her backside, his hardening cock probing between her fleshy cheeks.

She moans softly, biting her lip. “And why would I want you to stop?” she flirts, rolling on to her back with a slight grimace.

“You’ve been complaining all day that you’re in pain because of last night, and it would probably be a better idea to sleep…” he explains, unconvinced. His head is telling him to stop, but every other cell in his body is craving her heat.

“Can’t you be gentle?” she pleads, her sultry gaze locked on his.

“Of course I can. I only want to worship you, to make you cry of pleasure…” he murmurs while hovering over her body, wedging a knee between her parted legs, pressing his lips on hers. “But are you really sure?” he asks suddenly. She nods. “I have to admit, you gave me a taste last night, and I’ve been thirsty for more ever since...” he confides before capturing her lips for a deep and passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of her mouth, as to trying to give a hint of what he has in store for her. Careful not to put any of his weight on her rib cage, he unhurriedly leaves a trail of kisses down her neck and over the soft skin between her breasts, her nipples pert and inviting to the touch. For several minutes, he went back and forth between her nipples, kissing, nipping and licking one breast while his hand fondle the other.He smiles when his lips reach her tiny baby bump, adoringly cupping his hands around it. He delicately kisses her red scar, grimacing as images of her bloodied skirt and the blade pointed at her belly instantly flood his mind. His focus of the past few weeks has been on their departure and caring for her and her injuries, never allowing himself to feel fear and despair, and refusing to acknowledge being so close to losing her and losing the baby. Sensing his distress, she reaches down to caress his hair, her fingers threading in his dark locks. He looks up to meet her gaze, her loving eyes and warm smile appeasing his unrest. “You better take care of your mother, son. She needs you,” he says before planting a kiss on top of her belly. “You’re not contradicting me this time?” he asks with a smirk.

“Maybe you’re right after all. Maybe we’re having a boy,” she agrees.

“Of course we are!” he beams, enthusiastically continuing his trail of kisses down to her soft curls, the scent of her arousal hitting his nostrils, the need to taste her consuming him. He winds his arms around her hips to bring her close to his mouth, and he groans as his lips finally touch her engorged pink flesh for an intimate kiss. He runs his tongue through her wet and silky soft folds, quickly then slowly, lapping, drinking her in, humming in satisfaction, her taste intoxicating and fogging his brain. She lets out a long moan as he sinks two fingers in her moist heat, his tongue and lips assaulting her hardened little button, sucking, nipping and licking nimbly, determined to give her a maximum of pleasure. She gasps and whimpers at the increased attention, running her hands over her stomach before cupping her own breasts, her delicate fingers rolling and pinching her nipples. He can already feel her quiver under his touch as pleasure rises in her core, her moans getting louder and her breathing becoming hitched. “Ar… no…” she pants, digging her heels in the mattress and clawing at the sheets. As her orgasm strikes, he watches her come undone, not wanting to miss this moment for anything in the world, her eyes tightly shut and cheeks flushed, smiling blissfully while biting her lower lip, her walls clenching around his fingers and her hips bucking against his mouth. With a contented smile, he kisses her folds softly while carefully pulling out his fingers, and gives her overly sensitive clit a few last licks, making her giggle and shudder.

He makes his way back up her body, kissing and nipping at her skin, his hands gliding effortlessly over her stomach and her breasts, giving her time to recover from her high. When his lips meet hers again, he notices her frown. “Are you okay?” he asks, a worried look on his face. She nods, but then slowly shakes her head. “Are you in pain? Élise, be honest,” he continues. She nods unwillingly. “Then we should stop right now…” he says firmly, rising to his hands and knees.

She moans in protest, wrapping her arms around his neck to tug him close, her eyes pleading. “No, please, no. I want you…” she cries, her lips pursed in a childish pout.

“You’re not being reasonable again," he says before kissing her pouty lips.

“Please… please… I know you can be gentle… make sweet love to me… I've dreamed about it so many times, lying in this bed...” she begs in a low voice, before returning his kiss.

He slides his hands over her waist and behind her back, carefully pulling her up. Sitting with his back resting against the backboard of the bed, he takes her hand in his to help her straddle him. With his other hand, he holds his cock upright as she lets herself slowly sink on him with a groan, feeling the delicious stretch of her walls around his shaft, taking him in completely down to the hilt. "And now, promise to let me do all the hard work. And to let me know immediately if I'm hurting you. Just lean on me…” he says softly, staring deeply into her eyes, his hands now resting on her hips. She nods as she leans forwards, her nipples hardening on contact with his chest hair, and her tiny bump pushing on his stomach, instinctively moving her hips and brushing her clit against him, in search of instant gratification.

He chuckles in her ear, his hands firmly holding her hips still. “No, I’m the one moving. Just abandon all control, enjoy the ride…” he whispers as he begins to thrust his hips upwards. She doesn’t say anything, but closes her eyes, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, drinking in his closeness and letting his warmth envelop her. She surrenders to the slow, languid cadence of his hips, abandoning all resistance to the tide already welling deep inside of her. He crosses his arms over the small of her back, as if it was possible for him to pull her even closer, gradually accelerating the movements of his hips, while his lips, in contrast, lazily travel along her shoulder. He feels the goosebumps rolling down her back, her soft moans turning into quiet sobs.

“You’re trembling… and why are you crying?” he murmurs, worried he might be hurting her.

“Because it feels so good, and I feel like an emotional wreck but I don’t know why…” she sobs, tears running down her cheeks, before letting out a loud moan.

“Shhh these walls must be paper thin…” he chuckles, bringing his hands up her back, fingers spread, lingering over her shoulder blades and disappearing in her hair behind her neck.

“I don’t care, kiss me… and don’t stop, I’m so close…” she says before he captures her lips, her open mouth inviting him to deepen the kiss. His hands travel back down to grip her backside, kneading her ass cheeks, pushing his cock faster and harder inside of her. Suddenly, she stiffens in his arms, a wave of intense rapture taking over her body, making her cry aloud.

His brow furrowed from the strain of holding back his own ecstasy, a faint smile appears on his lips upon hearing her cry, and with a groan he spills his seed deep within her. Their lips meet again for a warm, slow and soothing kiss, his hands stroking her soft backside. Resting their foreheads together, they stare silently into each other’s eyes for a long moment, smiling and giggling.

“So you _can_ be gentle!” she teases, breaking the silence as she reluctantly rises to her knees, releasing his softening cock. Content, they settle comfortably in the too narrow bed, indulging in the intimacy of their joining. “And you’re the best lover I could ever wish for…” she whispers.

“You’re comparing me to whom, exactly? Your swarm of previous lovers? We really should sleep now,” he says, kissing her forehead.

“Spoilsport,” she pouts, burying her head in his chest, his hair tickling her nose.

“Good night, my love,” he whispers in her ear.

* * *

**October 3, 1794**

Arno wakes up disoriented. The room around him is unfamiliar and it takes him a few moments to remember where he is, and to notice Élise is not sleeping next to him. ‘Élise?” he calls out, sitting straight and looking all around the room. “Where did you go now, I don’t know this place, stop playing games with me,” he grumbles as he gets out of bed and hastily puts his clothes on.

Once outside the lodge, he scours the area around him with his eyes. He can’t help feeling worried -- what if something happened to her? A wild animal attacking, or another deranged enemy surfacing from her past? “Get used to it, Arno. You’ll never be able to keep her in a cage,” he mumbles under his breath. He finds her about a hundred yards away from the lodge, sitting curled up under a centennial tree, a blanket around her shoulders, staring at the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise. As he sits next to her, he expects to find her gloomy and tormented, but instead her face is peaceful and she exudes a level of calmness he has rarely seen in her.

“During all those horrible years I was locked up here, this is how I would find my inner strength to carry on. In the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, I would sneak out and revel in the solitude.” She smiles faintly, lost in her memories. “I would think of my mother, and remind myself I had to stay strong so I don’t disappoint her. Or my father, who I knew was already so disappointed in me… And I would think of you, praying I would see you the next time I’d be allowed to go home. Even if it was just a glimpse of your face through a window…” She opens up the blanket to allow him in. He sits next to her, opening his arms to hold her close, his head resting against hers.

“I kept all your letters,” he admits as he kisses her forehead. “Every night, I’d pick one and read it before going to sleep. And I would plan to steal a horse from the stables the next day to see you, and take you back to Versailles with me.”

“You never told me that,” she says with a large grin. “I have to say, that’s a very romantic idea. Stealing a horse to rescue your beloved from imprisonment.”

“It’s all in the past. I have you with me now,” he murmurs with a yawn, tightening his embrace. The cold air around contrasting with her warm body against his was making him sleepy. “And why are you here so early in the morning? When I saw you were gone, I got scared something happened to you.”

She shakes her head. “Never mind, it was a silly dream…”

He turns his head to look into her eyes. “Come on, just tell me,” he presses, before closing his eyes and snuggling comfortably to listen to her story.

“All right. I had a dream. About my parents. And they were telling me how proud of me they were. For getting rid of Germain, of course. And also for the baby, the wedding, leaving Paris to start a new life. It might not have been what they had in mind for me, but nevertheless, they said they would always stand behind my choices, as long as I remained true to myself and my beliefs.” She sighs loudly, pausing to gather her thoughts. “Oh, I know it’s just my imagination, I know it wasn’t really them speaking to me,” she continues. “But I needed their forgiveness to forgive myself. And I think I did, finally. Life always emerges from death, doesn’t it? Before we got married, I told Freddie I was convinced this baby arrived at this moment in my life for a reason. Perhaps raising our children is indeed my duty in this life. I might not lead as Grand Master, but I’ll lead my family -- my own little army, I suppose,” she adds with a chuckle. She turns her head to look at Arno resting on her shoulder, fast asleep. She delicately runs her fingers from his forehead to his jaw. “And here I am, finally opening up to you, and you my love, you are sleeping. Isn’t it typical?” she says softly with a smile.

He suddenly jolts awake, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. “I dozed off, didn’t I?” he asks sheepishly. She nods. He turns his body to fix his gaze on her emerald eyes. “Forgive me, I really wanted to hear about your dream. Looking at you now, I see in your eyes something I haven’t seen in years -- or ever, come to think of it. I’m seeing peace. Whatever that dream was, it was surely anything but silly.”

She smiles warmly before pressing her lips on his for a kiss. “Let’s just say I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day, about forgiveness.”

“I’m not sure which is making me the happiest: that you are finally forgiving yourself, or that you actually _listened_ to me?” he teases.

“I am listening to you! Sometimes… ” she retorts, laughing. Her smile fades slowly. “It will take some time for all the darkness in me to disappear, but I’m working on it.” They remain silent for long minutes, as the sun rises over the horizon, bathing them in its golden light. “One last stop in Versailles, and we can really say goodbye to our old life,” she murmurs, breaking the silence.

He rises to his feet, stretching out his arms and yawning loudly. “We should probably go back to the lodge and load your belongings into the carriage. Versailles isn’t far from here, but I’d rather hit the road early.”

* * *

Jacques is helping Arno reattach the horses to the carriage. Élise’s belongings have been loaded inside, along with a few generous baskets of bread, preserves and other provisions. Madeleine is weeping loudly, repeating incessantly that she feels like she’s saying goodbye to her children, and how she wishes she could watch over the baby after Élise gives birth. Hélène awkwardly tries to comfort her, but she herself is overwhelmed by her own emotions. Will she ever see Élise again, will she ever have the chance to meet her children? Weatherall grabs Élise’s arm, taking her aside. “Child, there is something I’ve been wanting to give you for a while now.”

She frowns, curiosity getting the best of her. “What is it?” she asks eagerly.

He reaches inside his pocket, producing a lavishly decorated box. “These were your mother’s. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, that sort of things,” he says, his voice strangled by emotion. She takes the box from his hands and opens it, grinning widely. “When she passed away, your father gave these to me as a memento,” he continues. “He asked me to give them to you once you were of age. Did he already fear for his life? I’ll never know. But time flew by, first thing I knew you were all grown up and out on your quest for revenge. There was never a right moment to give them to you, so I just held on to them and hid them here.”

She picks a ring adorned with a large emerald, slipping it on her finger and admiring it. “I remember that ring. The stone looked so big when I was a child!” she laughs, her eyes filled with nostalgia, quickly taking the ring off and putting it back in the box.

He sighs loudly. “You can keep them, pass them on to your daughter if you have one. Or sell them if you ever need the money. I have no use of them, they only remind me of your mother. They are yours anyway.”

She hugs him tightly, tears pricking her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”

“We’re ready here, Élise,” Arno calls behind them.

She releases her old adviser from her embrace, wiping her tears from her cheeks with her thumbs. “I’ll be right there, just… give me a moment,” she sniffles.

Weatherall takes her hand, staring into her eyes. “Now listen to me, child,” he presses. “You’re the daughter I never had, and I love you. Never forget who you are and where you come from. And please write to this old man once in a while? I’d love to hear all about your children and your new life.”

She laughs through her tears. “Of course I’ll write. As soon as we’re settled. And maybe someday you can come visit us? And meet your... grandchildren?”

He gives her his warmest smile. “I’m not sure I’d be able to travel such a long way, but I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe with Madeleine’s help…”

“Take good care of yourself. And let Madeleine take care of you. You deserve it,” she urges, before turning to Hélène. “My friend, my only friend, I’m going to miss you. I can never thank you enough. Thank you for standing by me and caring for me all those years. And stay safe.”

Hélène shakes her head. “I should be the one thanking you. You saved my life, and thanks to you, I have Jacques besides me, and now with Sir Weatherall and Madeleine, I’m content. I wish we could have raised our children together, but I understand you have to leave. All the best to you, my friend.” Élise hugs Hélène tightly, Hélène returning her embrace.

”Take good care of her, will you?" Élise tells Jacques, pointing at Hélène. “And if you want my advice, marry her. Immediately. You two are made for each other and it’s high time you start your own family," she adds with a wink. Hélène and Jacques exchange looks, their cheeks turning red.

Both Arno and Élise embrace Madeleine, who is still weeping. “And you, take care of my good old Freddie," Élise says. "He deserves a bit of tenderness, otherwise he’ll turn into a grumpier old man than he already is!”

“Of course I will. And you, take good care of yourself, and your baby. And may you have many other healthy children. You’ll make a fine mother.”

Arno plants a kiss on Madeleine's chubby cheek. “Thank you Madeleine, I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for me.”

“Farewell, Monsieur Arno," she says, patting him on the back. "I know you’ll make a fine father. You’re cut for this, I just know it.”

There is another round of hugs, pats on the back and handshakes before Arno helps Élise step in the carriage, holding her hand. He arranges the blankets and the cushions on the seat, making sure she will be comfortable for the journey, even though it will be a short one. She takes a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears. “Oh gosh, this is hard. Harder than I thought," she says, her voice breaking.

“Remember your own words: moving forward isn’t necessary an ending. You’ll see them again. Have faith," he reassures.

“Go, go, just go, before I hop off this carriage and drive the thing myself!” she urges.

“Yes, Madame!” he laughs, as he steps out of the carriage.

He hops on the driver's seat, taking the reins. With a click of his tongue, the horses start moving, and the carriage takes off. Alone inside, after waving goodbye one last time, Élise lets her tears run freely, a hand on her stomach. “We’re one step closer to our new life, my little baby. Soon, you’ll be safe.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note regarding the date of conception:
> 
> \- In her last in-game letter, it is implied she spent the night with Arno before they went to battle against Germain the following day.  
> \- Whereas in the book, it is clearly said she wasn't. In the book, she spent that night in her bedchamber, writing letters, etc.  
> \- It is pure wishful thinking and headcanon for the sake of this story that she _did_ spend the night with him instead, and that they conceived their first child that night.  
>  \- But to acknowledge the reality of the book, we are implying she was in her bedchamber _during the day_ , and joined Arno in his room at the Café much later.


	9. Wounded (E)

**October 3, 1794**

A few hours after leaving the Maison Royale, Arno stops the carriage in front of the main gate of the De la Serre estate. After hopping off his seat, he tries to open the gate, but the mechanism is jammed. “Do you need help?” Élise calls, leaning halfway out of the carriage.

He shakes his head. “No, there’s just too much rust. We’ll try to get in from the back gate. Get back inside the carriage.”

“Maybe if we try together…” she suggests as she appears right behind him.

“Élise, get back inside the carriage.”

“Pull on this lever, it’s too heavy for me. While you do that, I’ll try to reach for… the… other… lock here…” she says, her slender arm snaked through the bent metal of the gate. He obeys with a sigh, and there’s a loud click before the gate jolts open, creaking loudly. “See?” she sneers.

“Get back inside the carriage,” he orders, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. She walks past him to go back inside the carriage, purposely bumping her shoulder on his arm, never turning back to apologize.

They circle the estate, stationing the carriage near the stables, which are in a similar state of neglect as the main building. They walk towards the back door in silence. The door had been forced open, probably years ago already. Inside, they find a thick layer of dust, spider webs, and furniture overturned.

They wander through the long corridors, the once beautifully decorated interior now washed out and a pale reflection of its past glory. They had hoped to salvage a few items to bring with them on their journey, but any valuables were looted long ago and they didn’t have enough space for larger objects. She gasps as she notices her portrait on the floor of her father’s office, the canvas it was painted on ripped straight in the middle, the gilded frame broken. She picks it up from the floor, the canvas hanging pitifully as she’s trying to hold it up. “I always hated that portrait anyway,” she grumbles, letting the portrait fall on the floor with a thump, shaking the dirt off her hands.

He goes behind her to pick up the portrait, a nostalgic look on his face. “But I loved this portrait! I could stare at that cleavage all day!” he says before carefully laying it back on the floor.

“I should have paid more attention to the estate. I shouldn’t have abandoned it…” she confesses in a low voice.

“Will you stop blaming yourself for everything?” he interrupts. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Who else can I blame? You?” she scoffs. “It’s not your estate, it’s mine. They did a good job ransacking the place, I have to admit,” she says appreciatively. “It’s even worse than the last time I was here, which says something.”

That last comment hit him like an arrow shot through the heart. “I had nowhere else to go…”

She smiles faintly. “I’m not blaming you, Arno. I’ve had a similar… phase, where I hit the bottle.”

“You?” He turns to face her, but she’s absentmindedly looking through the dirty window, the gardens it faces completely overgrown from years of indifference.

“Yes, _me_ ,” she retorts, glancing back at him. “Haven’t you heard the rumors going around in Versailles? I always had quite a reputation. But whether the rumors were true or not isn’t the point. Do you remember, when you escaped from the Bastille and came to the villa, and I offered a warm welcome by pointing my gun at you?”

“One of the many times you broke my heart and rejected me. Yes, of course I remember,” he says bitterly. How could he ever forget? Having just escaped prison, he went to the first place he thought he could find her, only to have his love and his loyalty trampled by the only person he was sure would never believe he was capable causing her father’s death: Élise herself.

“I was depressed. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do, what to think. All I wanted was to numb the pain, make it go away,” she continues. “Eventually, Freddie came to my rescue, and saved me from myself. As he always did...”

“For someone who keeps saying she doesn’t need saving…” he mocks sourly.

“You didn’t just say that, did you?” she snaps, her eyes squinted in anger. “And you know what? _This_ is why I never told you about my past. _This_ is why I don’t want you to read my journals. Because I’ll only disappoint you, once I’ll finally come off that pedestal you put me on… let’s see… 18 years ago?”

He doesn’t answer, staring his feet.

“I hated you, Arno. I did. I really did. You killed my father -- at least, I thought you did, at the time. That’s what people were telling me, and I had to believe them. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

 _I hated you, Arno_. Her words, sharp like a knife, are echoing in his head. He is taken aback by her admission, but at the same time, it doesn’t really comes as a surprise. “And do you have any idea how that felt when you handed me that letter? I admired -- no, I _loved_ your father, I…” He sighs loudly, trying to contain the renewed feelings of pain and resentment that are boiling inside of him. “We probably shouldn’t reopen these wounds…” he adds.

“Exactly,” she snaps back. “Let the past be the past -- your own words. So stop insisting.”

“I’m not insisting…” he groans, kicking hard on a flipped chair next to her father’s desk, sending it across the room to hit a wall. She recoils at the sudden loud noise and Arno’s unusual outburst. He stares through a window, his hands clenched in tight fists, breathing heavily. “ _I hated you, Arno.” Did she ever stop hating me? Are the baby and our marriage just smoke and mirrors, are they just an illusion? I can’t lose her…_ he thinks to himself, his chest feeling tighter and tighter with each second that passes.

She approaches him carefully from behind, slowly wrapping her arms over his waist and around his stomach. She can feel the tension in his muscles, his blood boiling, his heart beating fast and hard. She should be frightened, but the energy and the sheer strength radiating from him is intoxicating, desire stirring deep inside of her, making her shiver in anticipation. She rests her forehead against his back, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Arno, please forgive me,” she says softly. “I knew this would happen. I knew you would be hurt. You know I love you, with all my heart, don’t you?” She hugs him tightly, her hands caressing his stomach and his chest, savoring his proximity, yet yearning for more. She glides a hand from his stomach down to his crotch, her fingers gingerly tracing the outline of his cock.

He spins around, gripping her hands and yanking them away from him. “Do you? Élise, no…” He can still feel the warmth of her touch lingering on his body. _Why are you doing this to me? Rejecting me, then ensorcelling me. Pushing me away, then reeling me back in..._

“Arno, yes…” she insists, reaching again for his breeches.

“Not here! In your father’s office? And I’m really not in the mood after what you’ve just told me...” he snarls before roughly pushing her away, causing her to nearly lose balance.

She pouts loudly, furious at his rebuff. With a sultry sway in her hips, she goes to sit on her father’s desk in the middle of the room. She slowly tugs on her skirts, pulling them up to uncover her legs. “Liar. I know you want me. I can tell. It’s in your eyes, they are so dark right now. And when I see that stormy look in your eyes, I know I’m in trouble...” she taunts, licking her lips.

He turns towards her and curses under his breath, stockinged legs parted wide and her most intimate area open to his view. Lips, teeth and tongues suddenly collide as two sets of hands fumble to undo his belt and unbutton his breeches. She is the first to get a hold of his cock, hardening and thickening in her hand as she strokes his length, swallowing his groans in their kiss. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she arches her back and tilts her hips, trying to align herself with his broad cock in her hand.

He puts his hand on hers to stop her. “No, _I’m_ in control, and _you_ are very much trouble...” he growls. She leans back on her hands, holding herself by grabbing the edge of the desk, a defiant smirk on her lips. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he pulls her closer and pushes himself into her, the brusqueness of his entrance making her hiss in surprise. She sits up, interlacing her fingers behind his neck, staring into his intense gaze. With both hands firmly anchored on her hips, he begins moving in and out of her at an achingly slow pace.

She pulls herself up to bury her head in his neck, nipping at his skin. “You know this is all an illusion?” she whispers in his ear. “You think you’re in control right now, but you’re not. And you’ll never be. I have you wrapped around my little finger... and I’ll always get what I want.”

“Witch… You cast a spell on me, the moment we met...” he retorts, marking his words with one rough thrust of his hips.

She lets out a low moan before snickering and leaning back to look at him. “You know what they say about us redheads… we are wicked witches...” she mocks.

He retaliates by pushing harder and deeper, yet keeping the same infuriating slow pace, purposely refusing her what he knew she desperately desired. “I shall forever remain faithful to you, I will be your loving wife and mother of your children, but you won’t control me...” she purrs, the languidness of his movements rapidly becoming unbearable.

“Shut up…” he orders hoarsely, placing a hand behind her head to pull her face closer, taking possession of her mouth for a furious kiss, seizing her tongue between his teeth and biting it.

She whimpers in protest, breaking the kiss. “I’ll let you dominate me, possess me, break me, shatter me, even inflict me pain, until I beg for your mercy, but... you… will… never… control… me…” she reiterates, each of her words interrupted by deep powerful thrusts.

“SHUT UP!” he shouts, bringing his hand on her throat without warning, his fingers gripping her jaw tightly. She swallows hard, her breathing coming in short gasping breaths. In his fierce eyes, she only sees pain, despair, and most of all -- fear. Releasing her jaw from his grip, his hand moves to the back of her head. "You're mine, do you hear me? MINE!" he cries, pulling harshly on her hair and yanking her head back, exposing her neck.

With a triumphant smile on her lips, she closes her eyes and nods. "Yes, yes, my love, I'm yours..." she murmurs as he brings his mouth to the curve of her neck, biting into her flesh so hard that he can taste her blood in his mouth. She cries out loud, the sting of his bite sending shivers rolling down her spine and settling deep inside her core. He shifts his body, pushing her back down to lie on the desk and pinning her under his weight. She can barely breathe as he relentlessly drives his cock into her, her gasping moans and his grunts filling the room. _When did pain become so pleasurable?_ she wonders, a sharp pain shooting through her ribs, her back flattened on the desk, each of his deep, raw thrusts sending her over fine line between pain and pleasure, and bringing her closer to her climax. Their lips meet for an open-mouth kiss, breathing heavily through their noses, tongues darting and rolling, as he swallows up her encouraging moans. It’s not long before her body jerks under him and her thighs clamp around his waist when a mighty orgasm sweeps over her. “Oh God,” she wails, shivering, the overwhelming sensations making her sob and laugh at the same time as he continues to plunge his cock into her without slowing down. When she goes completely limp, he rams himself into her a few more times before joining her with a violent shudder, collapsing on top of her, his warm seed flowing out of his pulsating cock. He presses his lips on hers for a long gasping kiss as they slowly regain control of their breathing. She twines her fingers in his hair, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. “See? I knew just how to unleash the beast in you. And it was fantastic,” she murmurs with an enraptured smile.

“By playing with my mind? By manipulating me?” He knew too well each of her words were uttered with the sole intention of obtaining what she wanted, regardless of the effect they would have on him. Even knowing this, it didn’t make her words any less painful.

She frowns, confused by his reaction. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He pulls himself up on his hands, leaning over her. “You used my love, my desire for you against me. You used my fear of losing you, my deepest fear, against me. You used _my pain_ against me. This was a dangerous game you were playing. I could have… I almost...” He shakes his head, unable to bring himself to acknowledge -- let alone comprehend -- his brutal actions.

“But you didn’t…” she says with a reassuring smile.

“I couldn’t think straight… The baby… I...” he stutters, his breathing getting heavier again and his chest feeling tighter.

She chuckles with a moan as she brings a hand to his cheek, biting her lip. “Believe me, the amount of pleasure far exceeded the amount of pain you’ve caused me. And the baby is fine, I’m sure...”

He yanks her hand off his face, staring deeply into her eyes. “You can’t just replace one pain with another, Élise. And hurting others will not help you heal. Don’t ever do that again. Don’t. Ever. I beg of you. You might not like it next time,” he warns, his harsh tone making her flinch.

They straighten up in a heavy silence. She winces and whimpers as she sits up, clutching her side, grimacing exaggeratedly when he turns away from her to pick up his belt from the floor. She forces a smile when Arno turns around and glances at her, a worried look on his face. Hopping off the desk, she brings a hand to her neck, feeling the half-dried blood on her fingertips. _He surely has left his mark on me,_ she thinks to herself with a smile, smoothing down her skirts and wiping the blood from her fingers.

“What _has_ got into you the past few days, anyway? This is all rather… unusual,” he remarks while putting his belt back on.

She reaches to help him, her agile fingers quickly pulling the straps through the loops. “Can’t I want to bed my lawfully wedded husband? Or is that something women are not supposed to _want_ , but only to _suffer_? To _receive_ without asking? Interestingly, women have to sign they agree to an obligation of intimacy, but men don’t have to. Quite unfair, isn’t it?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, looking at him in the eyes.

He holds her gaze, not letting her look away. “I thought the discussion around the contract was over when we both _willingly_ agreed to sign it? I was just making an observation. Seriously, Élise, we need to talk about what just happened...” he pleads, still shaken by his reactions to her verbal taunts.

“What is there to talk about?” she asks, annoyed by his persistence. “I wanted you, simple. And I'll behave the way I decide, thank you very much. Who are you to judge me?”

He groans in frustration, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not… Never mind. We’ll talk about this later, now is obviously not the right moment. Let’s not fight again. Please.” He pauses, taking a few deep breaths, trying to shake away the pain in his heart and the fear in his mind. “Back to other serious matters for the time being. What are you going to do with the estate? Do you want to sell it, or keep it?” he asks, forcing a smile.

She looks around her father’s office, and all she sees is dust and faded colors. “It’s in shambles, it would need serious renovations. Unfortunately, I don’t have any money to do that. I could try to sell the villa, and hope it brings enough money to renovate a part of the estate, but I’m afraid it would be useless. Perhaps a better idea would be to sell the villa and give the money to Hélène and Jacques. They could use some extra help to get settled somewhere else. They are my friends, they were there for me when I needed them, and I want to return the favor. It’s the least I can do for them.”

He nods in agreement. “So you want to keep the estate for now and sell the villa?”

“Yes, but to whom? And how? Tomorrow, we’ll be miles away already. I can’t oversee the sale from a distance…”

“Let Weatherall see to it, that will keep him busy. You can send him a letter as soon as we’re far enough.”

“I suppose I could do that…” she says, nodding. “We can talk about selling the estate and the villa another day. We need to find a place to stay tonight. We obviously can’t stay here. The roof might fall on our heads while we sleep…”

* * *

Arno is holding Élise's hand firmly as she trails behind him, looking around her, staring at the patrons sitting at their tables. The inn looks clean for an average inn, and the clientele, if very loud at this time of the afternoon, doesn't seem threatening.

“May I help you?" asks the innkeeper with a friendly, welcoming smile.

“My wife and I were wondering if you would have a free room for us? Just for tonight. And we’ll also need food and stabling for our 2 horses,” Arno reels off, unfazed.

“Yes, of course. May I have your name?”

“Dorian. Arno.”

After scribbling in the registry, the innkeeper hands him the key to their room. “That will be 80 livres, Monsieur Dorian. Please sign the registry here. My boy here will show you to the stables.”

Arno reaches for his coin purse as a patron calls from behind him. "Hey, aren’t you François de la Serre’s ward?”

Arno gives the innkeeper his money then turns around, casting a side look at Élise who was standing next to him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asks dryly, staring at the man suspiciously.

The man is taken aback by Arno's unfriendly reaction. “Forgive me if I was rude, Monsieur, I used to work for Monsieur de la Serre, as a gardener, about 10 years ago. You probably don’t remember me…”

Arno shakes his head, placing his arm in front of Élise as to wanting to both protect her and prevent her from moving from her position to approach the man. “I’m afraid I don’t, indeed.”

“You’re all grown up now. And you got yourself a lovely wife -- pleased to meet you, Madame.” Looking at Élise, the man lifts his hat and bows.

“The pleasure is all mine," she says with a smirk. "I hope my father treated you well?”

"Mademoiselle de la Serre? I… I didn’t recognize you," he stutters, his eyes open wide in shock.

“Madame Dorian now, obviously,” she corrects. She smiles to herself. _Madame Élise Dorian. It doesn’t sound too bad, does it? I suppose I can get used to that name..._

“Of course, my most sincere apologies. Well, I won’t bother you any longer, it’s just pleasant to see you both again,” the man says as he returns to his table.

“Do you remember this guy?” Arno mumbles to Élise under his breath.

She examines the man from the corner of her eye, shaking her head. “Not at all. But unlike you, I was rarely ever at the estate.”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember him, but nonetheless, he sounds like an honest chap.”

She grabs his arm, pulling him aside. “I’d rather not engage conversation with anyone regarding our travels, if you don’t mind,” she warns with a frown. “If he -- or anyone -- gets too nosy, tell him lies, cut him off, anything you want, but DO NOT tell him anything about us. It’s enough he knows Élise de la Serre is back in town and married her father’s ward.”

 _Is this all I am to you? Your father’s ward?_ he wants to ask her, but he bites his tongue. “I won’t, don’t worry,” he reassures, trying to hide his annoyance.

She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t worrying until the doctor and the civil servant, among others, betrayed our trust. I’m not letting anyone fool me again.”

“Let’s get you to our room, I’ll be right back once I tend to the horses. We can have dinner later,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulder.

She tilts her head, simpering. “You’re going to lock me up again?” He sighs loudly before giving her an impatient look. “I was just joking...“ she adds, laughing and poking his side.

* * *

After her late afternoon nap, they go down for dinner. She is struggling to hide that each step down the staircase is hurting her ribs and her back, but neither say anything about it. The meal is filled with awkward silences and things left unsaid, with the occasional casual chatter about the other clients sitting at the neighboring tables. She eats eagerly, even finishing up his plate, the tight knot in his stomach killing his own appetite. They retreat to their room early, hoping to be well-rested the next morning for their first official day of travelling.

He doesn’t hold her in his arms like he usually does to fall asleep, afraid to touch her, afraid of hurting her. He just stares at the ceiling, wide awake, the events at Versailles replaying in his mind.         

“Élise, are you sleeping?” he asks softly.

“I’m trying to…” she grumbles.

“We need to talk. About Versailles…”

She sighs impatiently then rolls to her back, gasping and wincing in pain. “There’s nothing to talk about, my love,” she mutters.

“Can I just say I’m sorry, then?” He brings a hand to her face, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“For what? Arno, get over it,” she snaps, pulling his hand off her face. “We both got a little carried away, that’s all.”

“Didn’t I scare you? When my hand was on your throat…” He turns his head to stare back at the ceiling, swallowing hard. “I surely scared myself...”

“Was I scared? No. Was I in pain? Yes, but that’s beyond the point. Was this the hardest you’ve ever fucked me? Probably. Did I enjoy it? Yes, very, very much. Now, can you please let me sleep? I’m sore, I’m exhausted, last night was too short, and we have a long day ahead tomorrow…” She rolls to her side again, pulling the bed covers up to her chin, writhing to find a comfortable position.

“Can I hold you? Please?” he asks prudently after a long silence.

“Of course. If it helps you _sleep_ …” she says, a softer tone in her voice. She misses his arms around her, his soothing and protective embrace, and there’s nothing she wants more than his warm body against hers.

He moves closer to her, carefully pulling her against him and kissing the soft skin of her shoulder. “Good night, my love.”

“G’night…” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

He lies awake, nuzzling her hair, listening to her regular breathing. Pushing her hair aside, his heart sinks as he sees the bite mark he left in the crook of her neck. He tightens his embrace, trying to repress a sob upon realizing there is more darkness and pain inside of him that he ever thought he had. _I vowed to protect her, do I need to protect her from myself?_

Hours later, sleep is still eluding him. He cautiously gets out of bed, holding his breath as she stirs and whimpers in her sleep. After putting his clothes on, he leaves the room on tiptoes. Downstairs, he orders a bottle of wine.

“You look like you had a rough day,” the innkeeper comments as he opens the bottle and places it on the counter.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Arno retorts harshly.

“That wife of yours, isn’t it? She’s a feisty one, I bet…”

Arno stares at the innkeeper in the eyes. “I said I’d rather not talk about it. Give me another bottle instead.” He takes both bottles of wine and leaves the inn through the front door, desperate for fresh air. He instantly spots conveniently located ledges leading to the roof of the inn, away from outside windows. Shoving the bottles under his belt, he climbs the ledges, reaching the roof swiftly, the exhilaration of the climb bringing a smile to his lips. “Nothing like the cold air of the night and a rooftop to clear your mind, Arno”, he mutters to himself. He sits with his back against a chimney, taking several deep breaths, letting the chilly air fill his lungs and cool his senses.

The night is quiet. Too quiet. _“I hated you, Arno,”_ her words are still resounding loudly in his mind. He drinks half of one bottle in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, praying the wine will silence her voice. “And you have every right to hate me after what I’ve done to you,” he mumbles before drinking the other half, watching the empty bottle roll off the roof and shatter on the cobbled street. He fidgets with his wedding ring, taking it off, putting it back on; taking it off, shoving it in his chest pocket, drinking a large gulp of wine, staring at the stars. _I don't deserve your love._ With a loud sigh, he reaches in his pocket to put the ring back on his finger. _Is this what our marriage is about, a struggle for power, a game of who is controlling who? We’re partners -- we’re lovers -- not enemies_.

Shortly after midnight, drunk, but feeling somewhat calmer, he gets up to his feet and laboriously makes his way down to the street level, his hands shaking and his muscles feeling sluggish. He stumbles back inside the inn and up to their room, lying in bed next to Élise without even undressing, finally drifting to sleep.

* * *

**October 4, 1794**

For once she wakes up before him, not without a groan. She is relieved she is not feeling nauseous, but every move she makes and every breath she takes are painful reminders of yesterday’s tempestuous lovemaking. “You really re-injured yourself this time, stupid girl,” she scolds herself, speaking at her reflection in the mirror. She frowns at the sight of the bite mark in her neck, swollen and red. “And that’s going to leave a scar. Another one,” she sighs. She finishes washing up, and gets dressed quietly but with difficulty. She would need Arno’s help, but he is still sleeping and snoring loudly, sprawled on his back. She knows he must have had a rough night, judging from the fact that he was fully clothed and that she could smell the wine on his breath. Sitting next to him, gently stroking his hand, she recalls the events of the day before, the anguish and the fear she saw in his eyes, finally realizing and admitting to herself that she went too far, that it was _her words_ that caused such a pain. _And for what? Arno, my love, you don’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you..._

He stirs and groans, and with a loud snore he wakes up, blinking as he tries to focus his gaze on her.

“Good morning,” she says cheerily with a warm smile.

His only answer is a grunt as he sits up on the side of the bed, staring into space, the room spinning around him.

She sits closer to him, taking his arm, resting her head on his shoulder, rubbing her cheek. “You’ve been drinking, I can smell it...” she says calmly. There is no reproach in her voice, only tenderness and compassion.

“I had things I wanted to forget,” he says in a low, hoarse voice. His mouth is dry and there is an all too familiar pounding in his head.

She looks down and sighs deeply before squeezing his arm. “Arno, I’m sorry. For yesterday. It was very unkind of me to play with your emotions and take advantage of you.” She looks up to him, trying to meet his gaze, but he stares absently in front of him. “Will you forgive me?” she finally asks after a long moment of hesitation.

He nods, a faint smile appearing on his lips, but he is still not looking at her. He is grateful she is acknowledging the emotional pain she inflicted him, but it was no excuse for the physical pain she endured because of him. “You crossed a line. But so did I.”

“Am I forgiven? Arno, look at me, please,” she presses softly, her voice almost sounding like one of a little girl.

He turns his head and finally meets her gaze, her eyes showing a range of emotions: love, affection, regret. “I will never forget. But yes, I forgive you, I love you too much not to.” As he pulls her close, she lets out a soft cry with a grimace. “I definitely hurt you, didn’t I?” he asks, a worried look on his face.

She sighs, then chuckles lightly. “I can’t lie. You weren't particularly gentle. And you certainly left your mark in my neck. Plus, certain body parts are deliciously sore this morning…” she purrs.

“I have to beg for your forgiveness. What I did was inexcusable. I’m so sorry, I never meant to… I couldn’t think straight… I… ” He shakes his head, his hand stroking her tiny belly through all the layers of her skirts. “With the baby… it can’t be good…”

She places a hand on his, pressing gently. “I’ll be fine, the baby too. And I forgive you. Let’s just… not do that ever again.” She quickly kisses his full lips, this contact alone making her shiver and wish for more.

“Why can’t we simply love each other, without constantly hurting one another in the process?” he asks out of the blue in a low voice, staring deeply into her eyes, looking for an answer.

She remains silent for a long moment, pondering on his question. “Do we even know how to love?” she asks back. “We were raised as fighters, warriors. At least, I was. The hell with people’s feelings, as long as it gets you what you want. And the hell with people we love if they are standing in our way. Every time we experienced love, it came at a price, and everyone we ever loved is gone.”

“Not everyone. You have Weatherall… And Hélène… You, on the other hand, are everything I have left. Do you understand why I can’t bear the thought of losing you, to the point of losing my mind?” He winds his arms around her shoulders, desperate to feel her close, to feel her heartbeat next to his own. “It was never about controlling you, I know I can never do that. Whenever I felt at home somewhere, every time I thought I found a family, I ended up alone. And you were saying you hated me, and I panicked...”

She embraces him back, her heart melting for him. “Oh, my love… I wish you would stop being so insecure! Don’t ever doubt my love for you. Even when I supposedly hated you, I still loved you dearly. And even without this surprise baby, I would have married you in a heartbeat. I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else.”

He hesitates an instant, as there was a question burning his lips. “Then why did you push me away every time I tried to show you how much I loved you? Would you have still married me then?” he asks, immediately regretting asking the question, unsure if he was ready to hear the answer.

She pulls away from their embrace, taken aback by his question. “It was different times, and to be honest, I was a different person, too.”

“So you wouldn’t have married me…” he says, defeated.

“That’s not what I’m saying, don’t put words into my mouth,” she interrupts. She takes a deep breath, as feelings and emotions she tried to bury so many times deep within her are resurfacing again, bringing her to tears. “I suppose I can’t keep this from you any longer. I have to say it… I just never thought we -- or I -- would have a future. Getting married never crossed my mind. Let alone having children. I assumed I was going to die in that Temple, Arno. I was prepared to give my life to save the Order, and it was my choice to do so. With or without your help. When I joined you in your room at the Café, I thought it was our last night together, I thought I was saying goodbye...” she chokes out, tears now running freely.

“You were so tense that night, you weren’t giving yourself easily,” he says softly, cupping her face with both hands, wiping the tears from her cheek with his thumbs. “Your life is worth far more than any stupid Order...“

She reaches up to grip his wrists, staring in his loving brown eyes. “I was blind, I was consumed, and I only wanted one thing: live to see a dangerous man die from my blade, or die trying. And as it turned out, I lived to see it, and we made a baby! If that’s not life taking its revenge over death, I don’t know what it is!” she laughs through her tears. “But I loved you then, and I love you now. And I’ll love you forever. Believe me when I say this.”

“I believe you,” he says, resting his forehead on hers, threading his fingers in her hair. “That constant bickering since we left Paris… it has to stop, I can’t stand it anymore,” he adds after a long moment.

“Too much tension building up between us. I know I’ve been quite difficult, I’m sorry,” she apologizes sheepishly, sniffling and drying her eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs before pulling her face closer for a kiss, opening his mouth and wetting her lips with his tongue.

She suddenly pulls away. “Blergh, wine...” she frowns, taking a deep breath to suppress a wave of nausea rising in her stomach.

“Oops, sorry about that...” he says, pressing his lips tightly together.

“How many?” she asks with a smirk.

“Not sure I remember, but I think it was two. It was cheap, and it tasted awful,” he chuckles lightly.

She whistles appreciatively. “Must be pounding in there,” she teases before kissing his forehead.

“Uh-huh...” he nods.

“Let’s get you a cup of coffee. I’m starving, I need something to eat!” she says enthusiastically as she gets up to her feet, her loud voice resonating in his ears, aggravating his headache.

“You’re really eating for two now, aren’t you?” he banters, struggling to get up on his own feet. _This is going to be a long day!_ he thinks to himself.

“And it’s about time I do!” she says, offering her hand.

* * *

After a generous breakfast, the time has finally come for them to set off for the South of France. There is an excited bustle, an impatience as he performs a series of final checks on the carriage and the horses before settling Élise comfortably inside, surrounding her with cushions and blankets like a cocoon. She just looks at him silently, smiling at his attentions.

“Are you going to be okay? Just let me know when you want to stop. The horses will need food and rest anyway,” he says as he adds one last pillow behind her back.

“Are _you_ going to be okay?” She can tell he is not feeling well, his face being waxy pale and sweat beading on his forehead, despite the cold October air.

He dismisses her worries with a nod. “With some fresh air, I’ll be fine in a couple of hours, don’t worry.”

“Do you even have the slightest idea where we’re going?” she asks with a large grin, butterflies taking flight in her stomach, struck by the excitement of the journey ahead.

He returns her smile. “Not at all. That’s the part of the plan which isn’t planned whatsoever. I thought it was safer to not set on a particular destination. It keeps our enemies on edge.”

“So, we’re just heading towards the South of France, and we’ll see where we end up?” she chuckles, pondering on the idea. “Normally, that’s the part where I would yell at you, and say your plan is a stupid one, but today, I won’t. I like that. Not knowing where we’re going. It’s scary, but it makes sense.”

“Let’s go then!” he says, stealing one last kiss before closing the carriage door behind him and hopping on the driver’s seat.

* * *

**October 28, 1794**

The days are getting shorter, slowing down their travels. After having left Versailles, they quickly settled in a steady daily routine of setting off, making frequent stops to stretch their legs and give the horses a rest, and searching for a place to sleep for the night. The further away they travel, the lighter the atmosphere as they leave their past behind, finally breathing easier after such an intense and taxing period in their lives. The topic of Versailles never came up in their conversations, having both understood a line was crossed that should never be crossed again, forgiveness being the first step towards mending and rebuilding themselves, and their relationship.

Élise spends her long days in the carriage reading every book they brought with them from cover to cover, the forced immobility and frequent napping promoting the healing of her ribs in the beginning of their journey, despite the rocky roads shaking the carriage. Nevertheless, boredom remains her biggest foe, the same forced immobility making her antsy and impatient. She often talks to the baby in her womb, describing the landscapes unfolding before her eyes, or even reading out loud from the cookery books Hélène gave her, lying on the floor of the carriage with her back and her head resting on a pile of blankets and cushions, and her feet up on the seat. She is always eagerly looking forward to their next break, when she is finally be able to breathe the fresh air of the mountains and spend some time with Arno who, contrary to Élise, is tranquilly enjoying the long winding roads, the cracking of the carriage and the rhythmic clipclopping of the horses’ hooves having a calming, almost hypnotic effect on him. On dry and milder autumn days, he would invite her to sit next to him for a few hours, bundled up together on the driver’s seat, indulging in each other’s closeness and chatting gleefully about everything and nothing.

This morning, they left Ventavon at the break of dawn, hoping to reach Sisteron before darkness falls. Around midday, the carriage stops abruptly, Élise almost sliding off her seat and falling onto the floor. Hearing the loud neighing of the startled horses and sensing danger, she discreetly peeks through the window of the carriage: four road bandits, with menacing swords and looks on their face, are blocking the road and closing in on the horses. She puts her hand over her mouth to muffle a shriek and ducks immediately, hoping they didn’t catch a glimpse of her. Sending silent prayers to Arno for his safety, her own, and the baby’s, she reaches for the box containing her sword and pistol, the sight of them alone firing adrenaline in her blood. Weapons in hand, she sits in the floor of the carriage, keeping her ears peeled listening to what was happening outside the carriage.

“Where are you going?” asks the leader of the pack as he approaches Arno, sword drawn in one hand and his other hand on the handle of his pistol, ready to draw.

Arno stares at the thug in the eyes, his dark gaze not flinching the slightest at the sight of the man’s weapons. “That’s none of your business. Back off, get out of the way, and let us through,” he orders calmly, but firmly.

“Oh, a posh Parisian!” the leader sneers. “This is my road, so it’s my business.”

“What are you talking about, _your road_?” Arno sneers in return.

“Get the fuck down and pay your fuckin’ passage, or else,” summons another bandit, approaching the front of the carriage from the other side. The remaining bandits are holding the horse's’ reins steady, making sure fleeing wasn’t possible.

“Or else what? You do not wish to fight me,” Arno says defiantly.

The leader walks slowly around the carriage, appraising the numerous trunks and boxes loaded on top and at the back of the carriage. Élise gasps as she hears his footsteps near the door, holding her breath and ducking as low as she possibly can, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. As he walks away, she peeks through the window again. “What are you carrying?” the leader asks. “If you’ve got no money, I’m sure we can compromise.”

“Let me repeat, you do NOT wish to fight me,” Arno threatens as he hops off the carriage, swiftly drawing his sword and holding it in front of him, ready to strike. Letting go of the horses’ reins, the thugs advance closer to the front of the carriage where Arno hopped off, surrounding him.  

Standing in the middle, the leader laughs out loud, chest puffed up and fists on his hips. “Four against one, you’re the one who’s pretty fucked if you ask me!”

Without a word, Arno draws his hidden blade, his gaze locked on the leader. The remaining thugs recoil and swallow nervously at the sight of the blade, immediately recognizing the weapon as being of an Assassin and realizing their opponent is not just their usual harmless victims.

“Whoah, boss... he’s got... one of those...” stutters the man standing the closest to Arno, pointing at Arno’s wrist with his sword while taking a step back.

The leader turns towards his mate. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy, Gontran. So he’s got one of those blades, who the fuck cares,” he adds, staring back at Arno with furrowed brows.

“Back out and let us through, last warning,” Arno growls, his nostrils flaring.

“No fuckin’ way,” the leader snarls.

“Then you don’t leave me a choice.” Before his victim had any time to parry, Arno unarms the bandit named Gontran, sending his sword flying behind him, and grabs him to plant his blade on the side of his neck in a precise and calculated move, one he performed so many times, slicing the man’s throat. With a gurgling sound, blood flooding from his neck, Gontran collapses to the ground, dead. “Anyone else?” Arno asks, looking at each of the remaining thugs, one after the other, before finally locking his fierce gaze on the leader.

“Thought you’d never ask,” the leader mocks before enjoining his mates to attack.

The three men charge on Arno from all sides, and he easily keeps them at bay while taking a few minor nicks and cuts, knocking out one of them by hitting him in the face and kicking him the gut, sending him falling backwards, banging the back of his head on a tree.

As the fight continues with the remaining bandits -- the leader and his mate -- fatigue is slowly creeping on Arno, his movements getting clumsier and his mind losing its sharpness. They push him towards the carriage, startling one of the horses who starts bucking and neighing loudly, making the carriage jolt. He thinks of Élise inside the carriage, how he would never forgive himself if anything would happen to her or the baby. He had managed to get them this far without any incident, he couldn’t fail them now. _Stay down, my love. Don’t expose yourself to danger. I got this, don’t worry_ , he speaks to her in his mind. In that short lapse of concentration, trying to avoid being hit by both the bucking horse and the carriage, he trips on a root that’s just out of the ground and falls shoulder first on the front wheel of the carriage.

Inside, Élise is shaken by the sudden jerking of the carriage, hearing a loud thump followed by Arno howling in pain. She doesn’t hesitate a second, pushes the door open, and jumps out of the carriage, sword and pistol drawn in front of her. “Arno!” she calls, taking a few steps towards him but stopping in her tracks as the long blade of the thug’s sword suddenly hovers under her chin. She casts a fierce side look at her assailant, refusing to lower her weapons, directing her gaze back to the leader who is standing next to Arno.

“Élise, get back inside the carriage, I got this,” Arno cries, as he clutches his shoulder, grimacing in pain and breathing heavily. He tries to get up, but falls back to the ground with a groan, as the leader hits him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The leader turns his attention to Élise, who is still standing with both her weapons drawn, her body in a stance that suggests that she was about to strike.

“Blimey, what do we have here, his cunt?” he scoffs.

“Get away from him, immediately,” she commands before aiming and cocking her pistol. The clicking sound of the cocking mechanism suddenly unlocks more memories from the attack on her life: being held at gunpoint, her dagger slicing through her skirts and her skin, Arno dropping his weapons. She flinches and her hands begin to shake as fear strikes her mind, the change in her not going unnoticed by her adversaries. “Little cunts like you are only good for fuckin’, not for fightin’,” the leader jeers, roaring with laughter.

“And even then,” his mate adds, eliciting a mocked laughter from both of them.

 _Breathe, Élise, breathe. Don’t let Ruddock win, don’t let these thugs win. Arno needs you, the baby needs you_ , she repeats to herself, gradually regaining her composure and the steadiness in her hands as another surge of adrenaline gushes in her bloodstream. She locks her icy-cold gaze on the leader, her brows furrowed with rage. “You do not wish to fight me.”

The leader dismisses her treat. “That’s what he said,” he retorts, pointing at Arno over his shoulder with his thumb, while slowly stepping in her direction.

“Élise, I beg of you, get back inside the carriage, NOW,” Arno pleads as he struggles to get to his feet, his left ankle unable to bear his weight, and dizziness hitting him hard. Defeated, he lets himself fall back to the ground, his face scrunched up in pain. _Élise, I can’t, I’m so sorry I’ve failed you and the baby, be strong, my love, you can do this,_ he speaks to her with his eyes.

“Hey, boss, I think she’s…” says the thug while lowering his sword, suddenly developing a conscience upon realizing she is pregnant. At 15 weeks, it was impossible for her to hide her growing belly, even under loose clothing.

“Am I what? With child? Yes, I am. Is that a problem?” she taunts, her gaze now alternating between them.

“More a problem for you than for us,” the leader answers back, still refusing to take her seriously -- even less now that he knows she is pregnant.

She takes a deep breath, and speaks in even voice. “My name is Élise de la Serre, daughter of Templar Grand Master François de la Serre. I’ve been trained by the best swordsman of the whole of France and England, you do NOT wish to fight me.”

“And that’s supposed to impress me?” he says as they both burst out in laughter. In a split second, she turns her body towards the thug standing next to her, shooting him in the leg and burying her sword into his gut.

“Are you impressed now?” she sneers, jerking her sword out of her gasping opponent, and slicing his throat just as he stumbles back. From where he’s sitting, Arno can’t repress a smile. _That’s my girl!_ he cheers inside as his heart fills with pride.

“I’m still gonna kill you,” he barks.

She stares at him with squinted eyes and clenched teeth. “I don’t think so,” she hisses before charging at him, determined to draw first blood. She rapidly realizes she underestimated her opponent’s skills, and discovers her own skills have lost their edge, not having trained nor fought since that ultimate confrontation in the Temple. _You can’t beat him in strength, but you can beat him in agility_ , she thinks to herself, pirouetting and jumping, parrying and countering his attacks easily with her swift footwork, waiting patiently for an opening. Eventually, the long-awaited opening presents itself and she doesn’t miss the opportunity to skewer him in his sword arm’s shoulder, slashing the ligaments. He immediately drops his sword and falls to his knee clutching his shoulder, screaming in pain, his sword arm hanging limp.

“Watch out!” Arno cries all of a sudden, noticing the thug who was previously knocked out had regained consciousness and was approaching Élise from behind, holding his sword high, in position to strike. Arno scrabbles to grab his pistol with his right hand as Élise promptly spins around, plunging her sword in the goon’s chest in one sharp and fluid motion, before he had time to strike his blow.

She turns back to face the leader of the pack again, her lips quirked in a victorious smirk, and shoves the point of her sword under his chin. “Do you still wish to fight me?”

“Go fuck yo’self,” he sputters.

She places the edge of her sword against his neck, bending over him to stare into his eyes. She had no intention to show mercy. “When you burn in hell, remember you’ve been killed by a pregnant cunt.” With these words, she finishes him off by chopping his head, blood splattering everywhere, and pushes his lifeless body to the ground with her foot.

With a yelp of joy she twirls around, brandishing her sword. “HA! Did you see that?” she beams, her hair disheveled and her cheeks crimson from the effort. She brings a hand on her belly, looking down at it. “I’m sorry if it’s been shaky in there, my little girl, but mommy had to fight! It was fun, wasn’t it? Your first ever sword fight!” she says with a giggle. As the adrenaline subsides, she begins to feel the exhaustion from the fight catching up on her, with a dull pain coming from her lower back. She notices several nicks and cuts to her arms and her sides. She bends forward, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath and control the trembling in her limbs. She turns her head towards Arno. “Well, that was a close call. What would you have done without me?”

“I had them. Are you completely insane? You could have gotten yourself killed! I didn’t need your help!” he snaps back, his ego bruised and battered, feeling guilty for failing to protect the ones he loves most: Élise and their unborn child.  

“You were sitting on your arse clutching your shoulder, while these thugs were pointing their swords at you. Oh yes, you _had_ them, for sure,” she mocks as she goes to sit next to him.

He shakes his head, his eyes fixing on the ground. “I just… I needed a moment. To focus. Then I was going to finish them off.”

She chuckles lightly. “No, you weren’t. I watched you fight, Arno. Your footwork was sloppy. Your stance was completely wrong. No wonders you lost your balance and fell on the wheel.”

“Wait, are you lecturing me on my technique?” he asks, now staring at her with a miffed look on his face.

“You know I’m better than you with a sword in my hand. Before we left, I promised Freddie I’d never give you any slack. Once you recover from your injuries, I’ll be training you. The family needs you to be in top shape,” she explains, patting his arm.

“You? Train me?” he scoffs.

“I was trained by the best, you deserve the best too, my love!” she says with a simpering smile.

“Your _father_ trained me, he wasn’t exactly the worse out there…”

“I’m still the best. I’ll admit, I’m completely out of shape right now, but I have an excuse, I’m pregnant. Try keeping your balance with extra weight to the front! Ha! But I still got them. Whereas you immediately tripped and fell...” she teases.

He sighs loudly, his face suddenly contorting in pain. “Can we talk about this later? I’m really not in the mood to be sermonized right now, my shoulder is killing me, and I think I sprained my ankle…”

She promptly gets on her feet, shaking the dust from her skirts. “We should get going then. How far are we from Sisteron, you reckon?”

“Élise, I can’t drive the carriage anymore. I need both my hands. I’m afraid… we’re stuck here,” he admits in a low voice.

She shakes her head vehemently, waving her index finger. “No no no, we’re not staying here. We’re in the middle of nowhere! This valley is beautiful, but we need to continue! Let me see your shoulder…” She kneels by his side, gripping his upper and lower arm firmly. “Can you move your shoulder like this? And like this?” she asks while moving his arm up and down, then front and back. He nods, clenching his teeth. “And if I press here...” she says, pressing with her fingers on his collar bone. He immediately groans in pain, roughly pushing her hand away. “By the looks of it, your shoulder is fine, but your collarbone seems broken,” she concludes, nodding to herself.

He looks at her with furrowed brows. “I’m not sure if I should be relieved or worried…” he pants, grimacing in pain.

“It would have been much worse if your shoulder would have been broken or disjointed. We’d have to find a doctor to put it back together. While your collarbone…” With the tip of her sword, she makes a cut in the fabric of her petticoat, and then tears a large section that she slips under his arm, tying both ends behind his neck to make a sling. “You should be fine within a few weeks.” She looks at him with a warm smile, delicately running her fingers over his bruised cheek, as to evaluating the extent of the injury.

He smiles faintly in return. “This doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck here, Élise,” he says gravely.

“Are you forgetting about me? I can drive the carriage!”

“You can’t be serious? It’s cold out there, you’ll freeze… And I can’t let you be exposed to danger like that, no way.”

She cups his face with both hands, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Arno, listen to me, we’re a team. You were there for me when I needed you, let me be there for you now, let me take care of you. Like a good wife would do. I’ll drive to Sisteron, we’ll find a place to stay for a couple of days to catch our breaths, and we’ll re-evaluate our plan.”

“But, you’re pregnant…” he argues with a frown.

“If I hear you say _‘But, you’re pregnant’_ one more time, I swear…” she scolds him playfully, resting her forehead against his and rubbing their noses together.

He slips his free hand behind her head, pressing his lips on hers for a much needed kiss, breathing deeply in and out through his nose in relief. They are both alive -- injured, but alive. He stares deeply into her eyes, his fingers caressing the back of her neck. “What happened to you? You went from being tired and sluggish and sick all the time just a few weeks ago… to being you again. The Élise I’ve always known. Only with a bigger belly,” he says with a wink.

Her mouth opens in disbelief. “Are you calling me fat?” she retorts, slapping his hand away and planting her fists on her hips.

“That’s not what I meant!” he groans in frustration. “I’m very glad you’ve plumped up since we left Paris, but you’re still way too thin!”

“So I _am_ getting fat!” she whines, gently punching him on his able shoulder. “For your information, the belly I have now is nothing compared to what I’ll look like in April. I’ll be an elephant by then. And I have no idea what happened to me. It’s as if I suddenly have tons of energy. I’m not sick anymore. My ribs are still sensitive, of course. From experience, I know I’ll be in pain for at least another year.”

He reaches to caress her cheek, then puts a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s good to have you back. You were wonderful out there, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you, thinking _‘That’s my Élise, my wife, look at her!_ ’ I am so proud of you. And I love you. And thank you, for saving the day. But stop eating my portion of the dessert,” he teases, touching the tip of her nose with his index finger.

She smiles as she sees the pride and love in his eyes. “First I don’t eat enough, now I eat too much? Make up your mind! Come on, my love. Let’s get you up on your feet and inside the carriage. You need to rest.” She crouches next to him, sliding her arm under his able shoulder and around his back. “Ready?” she asks, as she helps him push himself up with his good leg.

Slightly dizzy, he looks at the carnage around them. “What shall we do with the corpses?”

“I can’t move them on my own, and you certainly can’t move them in your current state. Let the wolves take care of them!” she chuckles, as they hobble back to the carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Élise is back ;-)


	10. Perfect Strangers (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like the previous one, because this chapter was turning into a massive mammoth of a text, I've decided to split it. Here's the first part. The second part should be available very soon :)
> 
> ~~ Mariyam

**October 28 1794**

The drive to Sisteron was thankfully uneventful. The night has fallen when their carriage reach the first inn they encounter at the entrance of the city, as if drawn by its light. Élise’s hands are aching from holding the reins tightly and being exposed to the cold air around. She winces in pain jumping off the driver’s seat, her back feeling stiff and her ribs sore from the fight a few hours earlier. Shivering, cold to the bone, she opens the carriage’s door.

“Are you okay in there, my love?” she asks Arno, who is sitting in an awkward position with his leg up on the seat, and hunched over holding his slinged arm by the elbow. He looks drawn and in pain.

He nods faintly. “I felt every single bump on that road, it’s about time we stop,” he says huskily. He straightens up on the seat, bringing his injured foot down to the floor of the carriage, jaw hard and lips pressed tightly together.

“Believe me, I know how that feels…” she confesses, her hand flying spontaneously to her left side. She looks around, the street is empty except for a handful passersby hastily making their way home, and there’s a murmur of muffled laughter coming from the inn.

“Shall we go in?” she asks as she steps inside the carriage, offering her hand to help him get on his feet. With great difficulty, he hoists himself on his good leg, his brow furrowed as he contemplates the three steps down from the carriage to the street level like it was the biggest obstacle he’s ever faced. “I can’t, I just can’t…” he mutters, defeated.

She coils her arm around his waist, pulling him close, looking at him with reassuring eyes. “Arno, look at me. It’s not like you to give up. How about sitting down on the floor and scooting to the steps, and then stepping off the carriage?” He nods, bending his leg and easing himself down to the floor. Using his good arm, he scoots to the carriage doorway, finally putting his foot down on the street pavement and standing up on a shaky leg. She swiftly steps down the carriage and offers her support, as she closes the carriage door behind them.

Limping, they enter the inn, the door inadvertently banging against the wall as it opens, catching everyone’s attention. Patrons stare at the odd couple, with clothes covered in blood and mud.

“That’s the way to _not_ draw any attention to ourselves…” Arno says sarcastically with a chuckle.

“Just sit here, I’ll go speak to the innkeeper.” She pulls a chair out for him, and he sits down with a plop.

“Here’s the money to pay,” he says with a strain in his voice, handing her his coin purse.

She presses her lips to his forehead for a quick kiss, then caresses his cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she says softly, feeling her heart tighten in her chest as she sees the weariness in his eyes.  

The innkeeper is sitting behind the counter behind his desk, his head bowed down on his paperwork. She fidgets with the coin purse, hoping the clunking noise will get her noticed, without success. The innkeeper stubbornly keeps his head down and doesn’t lift an eyebrow. She clears her throat. “Good evening, I’d like to know if you have a free room for us? My husband is injured, and he really needs to rest,” she reels in a firm yet friendly tone, her patience rapidly thinning out. “Pardon me, Monsieur,” she continues, raising her voice. “Do you have a free room?”

He looks up to her over his spectacles hanging at the tip of his nose, but immediately looks down again, pretending to be absorbed by the scribbled notes in the margin of the pages.

Having reached the end of her patience, she vigorously slaps the palm of her hand on the counter, making him jolt. “I’m speaking to you, and I know you heard me. Do you have a free room or not?” she hisses.

“Élise, what’s going on?” Arno calls from behind.

“I have no idea, this gentleman here seems to be completely ignoring me,” she says purposely loud, making sure everyone within earshot would hear her grievances. “Is it because I have a Parisian accent? Or is it because I’m a woman?” she snarls before turning her heels and walking back towards Arno.

 _My fiery Élise is definitely back_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. “Calm down, my love, let me go speak to him.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! We’re going somewhere else, I’m not staying here. Let me help you up.”

As she reaches to help Arno to his feet, she doesn’t notice a man approaching them. “Good evening, Madame, Monsieur, is there a problem?” says the man with a friendly voice, in perfect French. She turns around, brows furrowed and eyes squinted, studying the man that stood in front of her: dark-haired, in his mid-fifties, the cut of his suit accentuating his wiry frame. He had a warm smile on his face, and despite the fact that he was a complete stranger, she felt comfortable in his presence. “We need a place to stay tonight, but the innkeeper refuses to acknowledge me when I speak to him,” she says, raising her voice again. “He doesn’t deserve our patronage, we’re going somewhere else.” She motions to turn towards Arno again, but the stranger gently touches her arm to stop her, making her recoil slightly.

“I see Monsieur here is injured, and yourself, Madame, in your state…” the stranger says, pointing at Arno, then to her, his gaze directed at her belly.

“What about my state?” she retorts, squinting her eyes again.

The stranger chuckles. “Madame, my apologies, I don’t mean to be rude. Please, allow me to invite you to my home, it’s at the edge of town, but I can offer you a warm bed, a warm bathtub, and a warm meal. Which is, judging by the blood on your clothes and your husband’s injuries, exactly what you both need. Road bandits, I presume?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Arno and Élise exchange looks, as to say “Can we trust this man?”, their natural inclination to consider every stranger a potential enemy promptly taking over their dire need of a bit of comfort following several weeks on the road.

Arno nods, then shakes his head. “This is a very kind and generous offer, however I’m afraid we must refuse it.”

“I understand your reaction,” the stranger says, nodding. “It’s difficult to trust strangers, so let me introduce myself. My name is Fabian Lacoste, I work for the city council. Please call me Fabian.” Arno takes the man’s extended hand to shake it. “Arno Dorian. And my wife…”

“Élise,” she says, shaking Fabian’s hand. “Forgive my hostility. As you might have guessed, we’ve had a rough day on the road, and I’m a little bit on edge.”

“Quite understandable. I don’t make a habit of bringing strays home, but it’s been a while I’ve heard a Parisian accent and you looked like you needed help,” Fabian says.

“You speak rather good French, Monsieur… Fabian,” Arno observes, gradually warming up to this gracious stranger offering them a shelter.

“My mother was a Parisienne, bless her soul. Now that we’re not complete strangers anymore, will you accept my offer?”

They exchange looks once again, finally admitting to each other -- and to themselves -- that they are exhausted. Arno places his hand on her belly, his weary eyes sending her a silent plea to think of herself and the baby, and that they must accept Fabian’s offer. She nods faintly, covering his hand with hers.

“Yes, we will gladly accept it,” Arno declares with a sigh. “Just for tonight, and we’ll compensate you, obviously. We do not want to take advantage of your generosity…”

Fabian waves his hand in the air. “Oh don’t mention it. It’s a pleasure, and stay as long as you need. My wife, Marcera, she’ll take good care of you both. Here, let me help you up.” Élise swiftly steps aside, allowing their Good Samaritan to help Arno off his chair, while scrutinizing all of his movements, ready to strike should their new friend reveal himself as an enemy in disguise.

“Our carriage is just outside, if you want to hop in and show us the way…” Arno says before grimacing in pain as he inadvertently puts too much weight on his sprained ankle.

“Yes, of course,” Fabian says reassuringly, as the three of them leave the inn.

The Lacoste house is located about a mile away from the inn, just off the main road, at the edge of town. Élise follows a path bordered with trees until she reaches the front yard, where she stops the carriage. Fabian helps Arno to get off the carriage, Élise taking over and offering her support as Fabian leads them to his house.

The cozy warmth emanating from the hearth and the delicious smells of the evening meal cooking over the fire surround them as they enter the house. Fabian’s wife, Marcera, is occupied with dressing the table and putting the last finishing touches to the dinner. In her mid-fifties, with her piercing brown eyes and dark hair with silver streaks tightly pinned in a bun at the nape of her neck, all her movements calculated and precise, she gives the impression of being in perfect control of her household, and doesn’t notice her husband entering the house. In contrast, their daughter Clara is quietly sitting on an armchair in the corner of the sitting room, next to the fireplace, working on her embroidery. Barely out of adolescence, her golden brown hair is falling in loose curls over her shoulders and her back, her delicate features strained in a frown as she concentrates on her work. She immediately puts down her hoop and needle the second she hears the front door opening, and her honey eyes open wide when she realizes her father isn’t alone.

“Marcera? I have guests with me…” Fabian calls.

“Oh? And who might that be, dear?” she says matter of factly, giving the pot a stir before looking up towards the front door. He hand flies to cover her open mouth stifle a cry as she sees the shaken and battered young couple standing next to her husband.

“Arno and Élise Dorian, from Paris. They ran into some… trouble on the road. I was having a drink at the Cabochon when they came in, looking for a room. I thought I’d invite them here instead,” he explains, swiftly stepping aside as his wife rushes to greet their guests.

“My poor son, look at you! And my poor girl, you’re covered in blood! And with child!” she says, gesturing them to come in. “Clara? Come, we have guests!”

Clara reluctantly leaves her position from the far corner of the sitting room, rather intimidated by the arrival of the two strangers into their home. Even more so as their clothes are covered in mud and in blood. She comes closer and stands a few steps behind her mother, her cheeks turning to crimson instantly as she makes eye contact with Arno, who smiles warmly at her, before his face contorts in a grimace, overwhelmed by another wave of pain.

“Hello, Madame, Monsieur,” Clara says politely, wringing her hands together nervously.

Élise stares at the young girl, taking an instant fondness to her as they meet each other’s gaze and exchange smiles. _She reminds me of Hélène…_ she thinks to herself, feeling a pinch in the pit of her stomach at the thought of her friend she left behind. She is shaken out of her reverie by Marcera’s engaging chatter. “We should show you to our guest room, you must be knackered”, Marcera says. “We’ll bring you hot water for a bath along with a tray of food. And plenty of supplies to take care of all your nicks and cuts. We can talk tomorrow morning when you’ve rested a bit. How does that sound?” she asks her guests with a comforting smile.

“That almost sounds too good to be true!” Élise says, returning her smile. _A warm bath to wash away the horror of today, yes, that’s what I need,_ she thinks to herself.

“And I’ll take care of your horses, we have plenty of room and plenty of food for them in our stables,” Fabian adds quickly.

Arno shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “Excuse me for asking, Fabian, but why are you doing this… for us? We’ve barely met, yet you’ve invited us into your home, offering room and board. We could be criminals on the run for all you know!”

Fabian sighs, gathering his thoughts. “Growing up, I witnessed how difficult it was for my mother to adapt to life here. How the villagers were treating her, teasing her about her accent, her clothes, her manners. But she never let that get to her. She treated everyone with respect, welcoming strangers into her home when they needed help. Not to prove a point, not to be better than anyone, but just because this is who she was: a genuinely generous woman, who I always admired.”

“If the way the innkeeper treated me is typical of the way your mother was treated, I’m not sure I want to stay here for long...” Élise scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Cesar has his days,” Fabian laughs. “He’s treated fellow Sisteronais the same before. It was nothing personal, I can assure you.”

“Then I’m surprised he’s still in business!” she groans.

“This isn’t Paris! We’re far more tolerant, I suppose,” Fabian admits with a smirk as he walks out of the house to tend to the horses.

“Clara, my dear, go heat up some water for a bath.” Marcera orders. “I’ll help our guests to their room. And where’s your brother?”

“I don’t know, mother. Probably in the shed working on something, as usual,” Clara mutters in a low voice, casting one last shy look at Arno before getting to work.

* * *

After a much needed bath, Élise treats and bandages Arno’s cuts and her own, after adjusting the sling under his arm and around his neck. Her wet hair is tied in a braid snaking over her shoulder, droplets of water dripping from the ends. Around her shoulders, she is wearing a knitted shawl that she found in a drawer. A deep frown is creasing her forehead as she struggles to wrap the clean cotton strips around her right wrist. “Madeleine was certainly better than me at bandaging, but it will have to do,” she sighs, admitting defeat.

“Don’t worry, my love, you’re doing fine,” he says with a faint smile.

She stands before him, her pale skin glowing in the light of the fire on the opposite side of the room, the scent of the soap on her skin, the warmth emanating from her body, and her pink and perky nipples inches away from his mouth tantalizing him as she leans over him to help him lie down in bed. _If only I could hold you in my arms, touch you, feel you. Élise, I need you,_ he thinks to himself, swallowing hard. She places a cushion under his left foot and another under his left elbow to support his arm and relief the pain from his broken collarbone, then pulls the bed covers over his legs and up to his chest, tucking him in.

“You shouldn’t be straining like that, it’s not good for your back, your ribs and the baby, I’m sure,” he says softly, his tone apologetic. He should be the strong one, the one to protect her, to fight for her, to support her. Not the other way around.

She chuckles, then gives him a reassuring smile. “Arno, I’ve just fought and killed three men, I think I can help you lie in bed. Let me take care of you,” she insists before planting her lips on his forehead for a quick kiss.

“Practicing for when you’ll be a mother?” he asks, his hand reaching to caress her belly, delicately running his thumb over the scar under her navel. _The asshole marked you for life_... His eyes travel to the crook her neck, where the teeth marks he left during their stormy last visit to Versailles are still visible. _And so did I..._

“Possibly, but I’m also your wife, I want you to get better as soon as possible, therefore I am trying to take care of you as best I can.” She cups his face with both her hands, staring into his weary eyes. “And I love you very, very much, and I don’t like seeing you injured,” she adds, rubbing their noses together, then kissing his full lips, his growing beard tickling her.

She leaves the side of the bed to fetch the tray of food prepared by Marcera, and places it on the bedside table. She then brings an armchair over from the sitting area of the room and immediately sits on it with her right leg bent under her, looking ravenously at the content of the tray. “What do you want to eat? There is a lot of food, and it looks delicious…”

He shakes his head. “I’m not really hungry…” he confesses with a loud sigh.

“Is pain killing your appetite?” she asks with a compassionate smile. “Now you know why there’s no way in hell I could eat anything after Ruddock attacked me. And I was worse off than you.”

“I know, I’m just a whiny, weak man, who can’t even fight off the bad guys, exposing you and the baby to danger, and risking being killed -- even risking myself being killed…” he grumbles, looking away to avoid her gaze.

She cocks her head to the side, her heart melting. She places a hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Oh Arno, no. Don’t say that. Bad luck happens. And I certainly wasn’t going to leave you out there alone, pregnant or not.”

“I failed you. I failed you both, the baby and you. I failed to protect you...” he murmurs, his hand gradually tightening into a fist, his gaze fastened on the flames in the fireplace.

“Stop, stop right now. Look at me,” she says firmly. He slowly turns his head towards her, looking down, still avoiding her gaze. “Let me repeat what I said earlier”, she continues. “We are a team. We need to protect _each other_. We need to take care of _each other_. You don’t need to carry all the responsibilities of defending the family on your shoulders, however broad and strong they are. Now, at the risk of sounding like a certain someone, who said these same words to me countless of times: you need to eat. Is there anything on the tray that you fancy?” she asks, her tone mellowing a little.

“Just give me anything, I don’t really care,” he says wearily as he struggles to pull himself up to sit in bed.

She swiftly gets off her chair. “Here, let me help you,” she says softly, rearranging the pillows behind his back and offering her hand for support as he sits up, then leans back on the pillows. He winces in pain, the change in position adding to the strain on his collarbone. She delicately touches his cheek before preparing a plate of food for him, cutting the meat in small bites and breaking the bread in several pieces. He takes the plate with his good hand, placing it on his lap. As much as the food looks appetizing, he can’t bring himself to eat anything. The longing deep in his core is for her heat, to get lost in her, and forget about the fear and the pain.

“I’m grateful I can still use my right hand,” he says, nibbling on a piece of bread for good measure.

“It would have been much worse if it would have been your sword arm, for sure,” she says with her mouth full, barely chewing her food before swallowing it. With the fight and the drive in the cold autumn air, she felt like she could eat a horse. She sighs loudly in contentment as her stomach fills.

“I still need to use my left arm for many things. It’s my blade arm, and I need both my hands to climb…” he rambles, absorbed in his own thoughts.

She chuckles. “Listen to the Assassin talking…” she teases.

“... and I’ll need both my hands to work on our farm, when we find one.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to heal before we find something.” She looks at his untouched plate. ”You’re really not hungry, are you?” she asks softly.

“No, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, my love, don’t worry,” she says, picking up the plate from his lap and putting it down on the tray, before sitting back on the armchair and finishing her own meal. He turns his head to watch her eat, his gaze skimming her from head to toe, a smile appearing on his lips as he observes the subtle changes that happened to her body over the past weeks. Her usually lean and muscular frame acquired a new softness, the roundness of her hips more pronounced, her breasts somewhat fuller, and her cheeks having lost their hollowness. There is an aura of calmness surrounding her, in sharp contrast with the fire that was burning in her earlier that day. _And that appetite…_ he thinks to himself, chuckling silently. A newly found appetite -- for food, yes -- but also for life, for lust, for love, an appetite she seemed to have lost a long time ago. She catches him staring at her, his eyes dark and yearning. “What are you looking at?” she asks, the intensity of his gaze sending goosebumps down her spine, and blood to her cheeks. _Stop fucking me with your eyes, it's distracting_ , she thinks to herself, feeling her heartbeat and her breathing accelerating as her arousal increases.

“My absolutely gorgeous wife, who is getting more gorgeous every day as her belly is getting bigger,” he admits in a raspy voice, staring lovingly into her green eyes.

She gets up and comes standing next to him, placing one knee on the bed, their gaze still locked on each other. “You took a blow to the head…” she murmurs with a light chuckle.

“I might have taken a blow to the head, but I still think you’re the most gorgeous woman in the whole world. And I do feel quite proud that this little swelling belly of yours is all my fault. At least _that_ I can do well...” He reaches to touch her knee with the tips of his fingers, his delicate touch hiding the ardent desire stirring inside him.

“It is indeed all your fault. And you should always feel proud of yourself, because I’m always proud of you. You’re my man, and I love you. But you still took a blow to the head.” She leans forward to kiss him as he captures her mouth with his lips. She is taken aback by the urgency in his kiss, his longing for her and his need to have her, but she responds with the same fervor, taking his head between her hands and opening her mouth to deepen their embrace. She recognizes and acknowledges this need for intimacy, to feel their hearts beating next to each other, to surrender to pleasure to take away the pain.

“Come lie next to me please, I need to feel you close…” he says in a low voice, breaking the kiss to catch his breath.

“Of course,” she says, taking the time to re-arrange and fluff his pillows, making sure he is comfortable, before turning off the lamp on the bedside table, letting the shawl fall off her shoulders, and lying next to him, pulling the warm and heavy blankets over both of them.

“That’s going to give you a black eye,” she comments as she delicately runs her fingers on the bruise on his cheek. She moves closer, pushing her whole body against his -- needing, wanting -- her lips leaving a trail of kisses over the muscle of his shoulder.

He groans in frustration, feeling her damp curls on his thigh, his cock responding immediately. “I want you, I _need_ you, but I can’t, Élise… I really can’t…” he groans.

“You can’t be in control, that’s true. Surrender control to me. I promise I won’t hurt you. Let me kiss you, touch you, pleasure you, make love to you...” she purrs, her hand caressing his chest, then tracing circles over his stomach with her fingertips, her nails just barely scraping his skin.

“Tempting…” he sighs, her subtle touch driving him mad.

“A climax is a fantastic painkiller, by the way… and I know you need it as much as I do...” she murmurs before pressing her lips on his, her hand travelling down to grasp his cock, her fingers wrapped firmly around the shaft, her thumb swirling over the head. He groans in their kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth greedily and hungrily, his hips arching into her hand instinctively to increase the friction as she strokes his length. With the heat already pooling in his groin, he knows he won’t last long. He grips her braid at the nape of her neck with his free hand to pull her head away and break the kiss. “You, on top of me, and me, inside you, now…” he growls.

“And I thought I was in control…” she smirks, raising to her hands and knees to straddle him, her eyes smoldering with desire.

“Please…” he begs, panting.

“Let’s not waste any more time, then…” she says as she lowers herself on his cock, savoring the exquisite sensation of her walls fully stretching around him. They both let out a low, growling moan when he is fully sheathed inside her, taking a moment to revel in the feeling of connection. In the darkness of the room in this strange house, through their fears and their pain, they found each other again; nothing else matters except the two of them. Placing both hands on his stomach with fingers spread wide to hold herself steady, she begins to roll her hips forwards, alternating with circular movements, grinding her hardened clit against his body, a delicious ache promptly setting deep in her core. Thrusting upwards, his hips soon match her rhythm as he pushes his cock further each time, feeding the fire burning inside him. Their lustful gazes locked on each other, they continue moving in unison, their bodies joined as one, entranced in their quest for pleasure. His hand travels to her backside to grip it firmly, his long fingers lingering between her cheeks, stroking and nudging just enough to make her squirm as her orgasm approaches. She throws her head back, moaning and crying as it finally rips through her, the violent clenching of her walls around his shaft bringing him immediately over the edge. He comes with a growl, spilling into her, the sound of her name on his lips like a lament. As their breathing slows down, with her hands on each side of his head, she leans forward to press her lips on his for a long and soothing kiss, her growing baby bump pushing against his stomach.

“Soon you won’t be able to lean over me like that, your belly will be too big,” he says with a smile, his hand stroking her soft skin, from her plump butt cheek to the small of her back.

“Soon, soon… we still have a few months, I believe, I'm not that big,” she chuckles. She steals another kiss from his lips before she reluctantly rolls off him and onto her side.

“I wish I could hold you in my arms,” he says, pulling her closer, his free arm around her shoulder. _And I miss your heat already. I wish I could stay inside you forever_ , he thinks to himself.

After pulling the blankets over them again, she settles comfortably next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist, just under his slinged arm, careful not to hurt him. “This is nice too. We should probably try to sleep…”

“Uh-huh. It’s been… quite a day,” he says with a loud sigh.

“Are you comfortable?” He nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Just let me know if you need anything, don’t be afraid to wake me up,” she insists, before closing her eyes.

“Goodnight, my love. I love you,” he whispers.

* * *

**October 29, 1794**

She wakes up to the soft sound of rain hitting the window shutters. The fire has long died out, only glowing embers remain, and the room is cold and damp. Curled up under the woolen blankets and Arno’s warmth enveloping her, she hums in delight. _I married a furnace_ , she thinks to herself. She can’t remember the last time she slept through the night without waking up, whether it was in Arno’s room at the Café-Théatre, or in one of the noisy inn rooms they slept in during their travels, or even at the lodge of the Maison Royale. It’s been months -- years, perhaps. She stretches her arms, wincing in pain as her aching muscles protest the movement. “I’m definitely out of shape”, she grumbles. “And it’s all your fault, little baby,” she adds softly, bringing a hand to her stomach. She pulls herself up and props her head on her hand to watch Arno sleep, noticing the tension in his features: his brow furrowed, his jaw tight. “Are you in pain, my love? Or are you worried about something?” she whispers, touching the bruise on his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

Arno grimaces instantaneously, the corner of his mouth twitching. His long eyelashes flutter and he opens his eyes, his gaze slowly focusing on her face.  

“Good morning, handsome,” she says cheerfully.

Instinctively, he moves his left arm in an attempt to caress her face, but the sharp pain coming from his broken collarbone immediately stops him in his tracks. He groans loudly, trying to restrain himself to not howl in pain, breathing heavily through his nose.

She watches him closely, waiting for his pain to subside, caressing his forehead. “Can I do anything for you?” she asks once his breathing slowed down and his clenched jaw relaxed a little. He shakes his head. “Then I’ll just stay close to you. I missed your arms around me last night…” she murmurs, her hand gliding over his stomach and around his waist, pulling her body close to him. “It was a close call yesterday, wasn’t it?” Resting her head on his shoulder, she shudders as she recalls the ambush. Metal blades clashing, the thump of Arno falling on the carriage’s wheel, blood splattering.

“Yes, it was. And I’d rather not talk about it right now, if you don’t mind,” he snarls, immediately regretting his outburst, pain putting him in an irritable mood. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes as she recoils away from him, rolling onto her back.

She takes a deep breath, staring at the ceiling. Her nose catches the smell of fresh bread baking, and the smell alone makes her stomach rumble. “I’m starving. I wonder what… hmm… what’s her name again? Marcera? I wonder what she’s preparing…” she says after a long silence, hoping a change of topic will lighten Arno’s mood.

“I still can’t believe they just invited us into their home,” he says with a faint smile. The diversion seems to be working.

“I guess people from the South are more welcoming than us stuck-up people from the North. Except that innkeeper. What a knob…” she grumbles.

He laughs at her comment, then cringes a little, pain seeping in. “Maybe if we get to know him better…” he suggests prudently.

She opens her mouth in disbelief, rolling swiftly to her side to stare at him. “What you said yesterday, about needing your left hand to work on the farm… You were already considering staying here, weren’t you? Just admit it!”

“I’m not considering anything, Élise! We’re not going to stay with the Lacoste forever, we’re eventually going back to the inn to rent a room, aren’t we?” He looks away, lost in his thoughts. Images of what their life could be are flashing in front of his eyes: him working on the farm, her taking care of the house and selling their products at the market. The children running around, getting into all kinds of mischiefs. _Of course they would, with us as parents_ , he thinks to himself. A quiet and simple life, everything he’s ever wished for. “But what if… what if we find a house. A perfect one. A farm, just like we want. Big enough to raise our family. Would you stay here?” he asks, turning his hopeful gaze back to her.

She considers what he’s said without responding at first, taking a moment to think of an appropriate answer. What if yesterday’s attack was fate bringing them here? What if their hosts’ incredible generosity was a sign? She looks at him, noticing how his face has softened since he’s talked about the farm, and her heart melts yet again. _You and your puppy eyes_ , she groans internally, rolling her eyes. “I’d have to see more of the area, it was dark when we arrived yesterday. Didn’t you want to go further South, near the sea?”

“I just want to find a home. And when it’ll feel right, that’s when I’ll know I found it.”

“Does Sisteron feel right to you, then?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not yet, but sleeping in a clean, warm bed, after a hot bath, very much felt like home last night.”

She chuckles. “I have to agree with you there. I think I haven’t slept so well in weeks. Or even months, come to think of it.” She stretches her arms and legs again, wincing. “However, that sword fight was quite intense and all my muscles are protesting this morning.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s sore…” he groans.

“Oh my poor man!” she teases. “As much as I would stay in this bed all day if I could, we should get dressed and thank our hosts for their hospitality. And eat. I’m ravenous.”

“I’ll need your help,” he says sheepishly.

She nods, giving him an understanding smile. “Yes, my love, I know.” She hops off the bed, shivering as she leaves the warmth of the covers. She picks up the shawl from the floor and throws it over her shoulders. “Let me see your ankle,” she says as she crouches in front of him, after helping him sit on the edge of the bed. “Can you move it?”

He winces in pain as he moves his ankle from side to side.“A little bit. I probably shouldn’t be standing on it.”

After bringing the basin with water next to the bed, she helps him wash up, and then fetches clothes from their trunk, that Fabian brought inside for them the evening before. She arranges the clothes on the bed, nodding in satisfaction. “Yes, that should do it.” She unfastens the sling behind his neck and helps him get dressed, trying to limit his movements and his pain to a minimum. “You’re almost presentable,” she says as she reattaches the sling. “One more thing!”

“ _Almost_ presentable?” he sneers.

She crawls on the bed and kneels behind him, a brush in her hand. “The best thing about you having only one good arm: I get to play with your hair every day!” she says cheerfully with a large grin.

He shakes his head, trying to cover his hair with his hand. “No, no, no, you don’t get to _play_ with my hair! You can comb it, brush it, tie it, but you don’t get to play with it!” he laughs.

“Oh yes, I do!” she retorts, grasping his hair to brush it vigorously.

“No! Or else I’ll end up with pigtails or braids! OUCH! Watch it, will you? That hurts!”

“But it’s all tangled!” she explains, still brushing vigorously, trying to get rid of the knots.

“No need to pull all my hair out!”

“Scared of going bald?” she teases in his ear.

“No! Just be gentle! If you want to play with someone’s hair, play with the children’s!” he snaps.

“And I’m very much looking forward to that!”

“Says the girl who wouldn’t sit still when they tried to brush her hair, and wears it mostly loose, never in one of those fancy up-do’s you see on women in the streets?”

“Not wanting my own hair to look fancy and complicated doesn’t mean I won’t tie my daughter’s hair with pretty ribbons!”

“As long as you leave the pretty ribbons out of mine…”

She stops brushing his hair and pokes her head over his shoulder. “Is that a dare?”

He groans in frustration. “You are very lucky I only have one good arm, otherwise I’d make you lie across my lap and punish you for taunting me like that!”

She chuckles as she wraps the leather tie around his hair in a ponytail. Satisfied with her work, she moves over to the edge of the bed, on her knees, and smiles as she throws her leg over his lap, settling into a sitting position astride him, careful not to touch his injured arm. She stares deeply into his eyes as she unties her braid and fluffs her fiery red mane. “You’d love that too much…” she retorts, biting her lip.

He snakes his right arm around her hip to palm her arse and grip it firmly, before smacking it gently. “Get dressed before I find other ways of punishing you…” he warns in a raspy voice, slapping her butt cheek one more time, making her giggle.

* * *

Marcera is busy washing the dishes, helped by Clara, as Arno and Élise hobble out of their room and into the kitchen. Fresh loaves of bread are cooling down on the table. “Ah, there you are! I could hear you talk and laugh in there, but I didn’t dare knock on your door. I figured you might want some privacy,” Marcera says cheerfully as she dries her hands with her apron. “Did you sleep well? You both looked exhausted last evening. And it’s almost the middle of the afternoon.”

“Yes! After so many weeks on the road, it felt wonderful to sleep in a warm and clean bed!” Élise says, as she helps Arno sit on a chair at the table.

“Glad to hear it!” Marcera turns to Arno, a concerned look on her face. “How are you, son? Shall I ask my Clara to go fetch the doctor for you? Are you sure your foot isn’t broken?” She pulls another chair and fetches a cushion from the sitting room for him to rest his injured foot on.

He shakes his head. “It’s not necessary, it’s just a nasty sprain. Not my first one, probably not my last.”

Élise raises an eyebrow. “You never told me that!”

“Do you really think I’ve always made perfect landings jumping off a roof?” he retorts.

“Why would you be jumping off a roof? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Marcera asks, confused.

Arno casts a side look at Élise, before answering quickly: “Errr… I was… chasing thieves, in the streets of Paris…”

Marcera nods slowly, not immediately convinced by the explanation. “Oh, I see. Such a big city, so dangerous, I bet.”

“Very,” Élise adds.

“Well, no need to jump off roofs around here! This town is very quiet, nothing ever really happens,” Marcera shrugs.

“Unless we run into road bandits again, that is…” Élise mutters under her breath.

‘Shush!” Arno hisses impatiently.

Marcera looks at Arno, then Élise, and frowns. “Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry!” she attempts.

They nod enthusiastically. “That would be lovely, I’m starving!” Élise says, patting her stomach.

“Let me bring you some bread and a saucisson from the scullery. Tea?” They both nod. “Very well! Clara, please help me by preparing the tea for our guests,” she orders her daughter.

While the young girl and her mother are busy preparing their meal, Élise looks around. The house is clean and well kept, and denotes the relatively high social status of their hosts. The furniture looks recent, the wooden floor shines, and the curtains and tapestries are brightly colored. In the corner of the sitting room, there is a high bookcase packed with books from top to bottom. _New reading material, at least I won’t be bored_ , she thinks to herself. She catches Arno’s gaze and smiles. He’s doing the same thing as her -- looking around, taking in all the details. Above the fireplace hangs a family portrait. She recognizes Fabian, Marcera and Clara immediately. Three other boys appear on the portrait. _Their sons, I suppose._

Marcera’s voice brings Élise back from her thoughts. She is holding two wooden platters with thick slices from one of the fresh loaves of bread, and half of a saucisson covered in powdery white mold, that she places in front of her guests. “Do you mind if I sit with you at the table while you eat? I want to know everything: where you’re from, what you are doing in town. I love having guests, they always have so many stories to tell! My Fabian was saying you were from Paris…”

“Of course not! Please!’ Élise says as she breaks Arno’s bread in more manageable pieces and cuts the saucisson in thin slices, much to his amusement. “Well, Versailles would be more accurate,” she continues. “But we spent quite some time in Paris in our lives, my parents owned a villa in the Cité. Arno joined our family as our ward when he was 8 years old, we practically grew up together.” She takes a large bite of the heavy, nutty-flavored bread, chewing avidly.

Marcera leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “What do you mean by ‘practically’? Were you kept separated so you don’t fall in love with each other? In any case, that didn’t quite work out, did it?” she says, pointing at Élise’s small baby bump.

Arno laughs, looking tenderly at Élise. _How could I ever resist falling in love with her? She had me at the first giggle, the first smile_ , he thinks to himself. “No, it obviously didn’t. Although it is true we were kept away from each other, especially because Élise was sent to a boarding school…”

Marcera looks surprised. “And that boarding school, was it la Maison Royale?”  
Élise stops eating, looking equally surprised. “How do you know it? It’s quite infamous, but…”

“I know it because I was sent there too as a young girl!” Marcera explains, visibly delighted to have found a fellow Demoiselle de Saint-Cyr. “I received a bursary, my father having served in the army and giving his life for the country, bless his soul.”

“What a wonderful coincidence!” Élise exclaims with a large grin.

“I didn’t stay very long, as you can imagine because of the distance, I barely ever had visitors at the parlor, and I spent all school vacations over there,” Marcera continues, a nostalgic look on her face. “I didn’t see my mother and my siblings for two years! A distant relative, a cousin of my mother, was visiting me and making sure I had all I needed, but I was absolutely miserable.”

“I used to call it my Palais de la Misère…” Élise chuckles.

Marcera laughs out loud. “There is no better name for this place!”

“Is it where you learned to speak French? With a perfect Parisian accent, I might add.”

“Yes, the silver lining from these two horrible years of my life: learning Parisian French and therefore ensuring my children could speak it too at an early age. I have three sons and a daughter. My two older sons, Gabriel and Tibaud, are married and already have children of their own. They live nearby and they work with my Fabian at the City Hall. Francis is my youngest child, just thirteen, and he’s still in school. But he wants to start an apprenticeship to build things: houses, mostly. We’re not against it, but we’d prefer he stays in school a bit longer. It broadens the mind.”

Clara brings the teapot to the table, pouring the hot herbal mixture into everyone’s cup. Her hands shake a little and she blushes as she pours tea for Arno, unable to hide her infatuation for him.

“And my Clara here, she finished her education at Gap’s school for girls. She helps me around the house until she gets married, hopefully very soon,” her mother says with a note of impatience in her voice, taking the hot teapot from the hands of her daughter before she drops it on the table.

“Plenty of time for that,” Élise winks at Clara, who only blushes further and sits quietly at the table. _This poor girl needs to come out of her shell, she’s letting her mother order her around like she’s still a child,_ Élise thinks to herself while smiling warmly at Clara.

“But what else, you said Arno joined as you ward, and I know now you’re a fellow Demoiselle de Saint-Cyr. You grew up in Versailles and Paris. Your parents were surely of great means…” Marcera inquires, genuinely interested in getting to know these strangers she welcomed in her home.

Élise hesitates. “Errr… I wouldn’t really say that. But my father was involved in some... “ She looks at Arno, begging for help. “... business that made him join the inner circle of the King, and some other political figures. I never really cared much about it, I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell…” she says hurriedly, hoping this succinct explanation would suffice for now. She didn’t feel comfortable revealing her identity just yet to strangers, not after travelling hundreds of miles to start a new life. _What can I tell her anyway?_ she wonders. _That I’m a Knight Templar, that I was supposed to become Grand Master after my father? Good thing she doesn’t know my last name. Perhaps she knew my mother? She went to the Maison Royale too, after all. And they both are roughly the same age. _She smiles faintly and swallows the lump in her throat at the thought of her mother, deeply regretting not saying a final farewell by visiting her grave and her father’s before they left Paris. _But what is done, is done,_ she reasons herself.

“And why did you leave Paris? And how on Earth did you end up here, so far South, in the middle of the Alps?” Marcera insists, curiosity getting the best of her.

Arno sense’s Élise distress. “We… Let’s just say the atmosphere in Paris is rather suffocating. Élise’s father passed away five years ago, and since then, our lives have been quite complicated,” he explains.

“Because of his business?”

Arno nods calmly. “Yes, exactly. Because of his business. We need a fresh start, away from it all. Especially with the baby coming, we didn’t want to raise our children in Paris. Too dangerous for mother and baby...”

Marcera smiles. As a mother herself, she understands this visceral need to protect her children at all costs. “I can’t blame you. But why here?”

“Honestly, it was a bit of a dream we had,” Arno chuckles. “South of France, Alps, a farm with goats, children running around… We simply headed South, without a particular destination in mind. We’re looking for a home. When it will feel like home, we’ll know we’re at the right place,” he concludes.

“And what do you do for a living, Arno?”

It’s his turn to hesitate. _I used to be a good for nothing, but then I got arrested and somehow became an Assassin. And Élise and I, we avenged her father, and we saved France from an even bloodier future than this nightmare of a bloodshed that were the years following the Revolution. No, that story won’t cut it,_ he mocks. “Errr… I used to run a café-théâtre in Paris. With the money, we’re hoping to buy a farm, and live from it.” _That will do._

Marcera gets off her chair. “How fascinating! We’ll have to chat further when my Fabian comes back from work. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to preparing the dinner for tonight. That stew needs to simmer for a long time. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“That would be lovely, but we really don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality…” he says, shaking his head.

“Stay for as long as you like. You’re injured, your lovely wife here is pregnant, you both need to rest. I can see it in your faces, you’ve been through a lot,” she says compassionately.

Arno and Élise look at each other again, exchanging faint smiles and nodding. Just like the night before at the inn, they are forced to admit to themselves and each other that they must accept this helping hand that is extended to them. Enough with running away. Enough with living like fugitives. _But can we trust them?_ Arno asks her with his eyes. _We’ll have to_ , she replies in the same manner.

“You’re making it hard for us to refuse! Marcera, do you mind if… if I help you? With dinner? I’m afraid I’m useless in the kitchen, but if you show me...” Élise admits sheepishly.

Arno looks at Élise, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

Marcera shakes her head, she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You can’t cook and you have a baby on the way? It’s about time we rectify that, dear. Of course you can help me! I’ll never say no to an extra pair of hands!”

“Arno, do you want to go lie down?”

“No, I’m fine, my love. I’ll just stay here and watch you in action. I don’t want to miss this for the world…” he teases, leaning back comfortably on his chair, ready to watch his wife’s debut in the kitchen. _This should be interesting_ , he thinks to himself with a smirk.

She playfully punches him in his right shoulder before joining Marcera and her daughter by the hearth. Both women patiently explain and show her how to wash and prepare the vegetables and the meat for the stew. Élise is clearly out of her element and her gestures lack her usual confidence, but she is watching and listening carefully, eager to learn.

From his chair, Arno is observing Élise, a loving smile on his face. In just 24 hours, he’s seen a side of her he’s never seen, revealing itself right before his eyes. A softer side, a loving side, a caring side -- a motherly side. But his smile slowly fades and his stomach tightens as his mind gets flooded by snapshots from the events of the day before, and how he exposed her and the baby to danger. _You’re going to make a wonderful mother, my love. And I’m going to make a lousy father if I can’t provide for my family_.

Élise spends the rest of the afternoon chatting with Marcera and Clara, while preparing dinner. She is bombarded with questions about her pregnancy, but also about her life in Paris and Versailles. Marcera is particularly fond of stories of Élise’s years at the Maison Royale, sad and relieved at the same time to discover things haven’t really changed since she was staying there herself. Clara, on the other hand, is delighted to show Élise her skills in the kitchen, and she took upon herself to teach her how to prepare the perfect gratin dauphinois, just like she learned attending school in Gap.

Meanwhile, Arno retreats to the sitting room on his own as quietly as possible, the loud chatter of the three women rapidly getting on his nerves. Pain and fatigue, coupled with this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, are fueling his irritability. He grabs a book from the bookcase and sits on a wide armchair, but he can’t concentrate on the words on the page. “If only I didn’t have to hear their conversation about all that women stuff,’ he groans, rubbing his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he lets himself sink into the chair, trying to shut out the chatter, and mental and physical exhaustion overcoming him, he falls asleep.


	11. Hearth And Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, angst, more fluff, more angst, but mostly a lot of fluff...

**October 29, 1794 (continued)**

Arno wakes up with a jolt about an hour later when he hears the front door open and close, followed by the animated voice of a teenaged boy greeting his mother and sister. “Must be their youngest son,” he mumbles groggily. He tries to straighten himself in his chair, his back stiff and aching from his awkward sleeping position.

“Hello, I’m Francis,” says the boy enthusiastically, as he drops his satchel next to Arno’s chair.

He looks at the boy -- mid-teens, his long limbs almost outgrowing his coat, shirt and breeches, he has bushy dark curly hair, and his mother’s piercing and clever eyes. Arno can’t help but smile while extending his hand to shake Francis’ hand. “Arno,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” the boy asks sheepishly. “Mom said to be quiet, but I didn’t realize you were sitting here.”

Arno chuckles. “You didn’t, don’t worry.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell the boy the truth.

“Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m off to the shed now!” the boy says hurriedly before running through the kitchen and out the door, deaf to his mother’s recriminations about his muddy boots soiling her floor.

Arno shakes his head. _To have that energy again_ , he chuckles to himself. _Not a care in the world, just school and play. But you have responsibilities now, Arno. A wife, a baby on the way. And no roof above your heads. And you can’t even eat without your wife cutting your food like you’re a small child. Great going, you bloody idiot. How are you going to get yourself out of this? How are you going to provide for your family now? You used to be a good for nothing… things haven’t changed much, have they?_ He sighs deeply, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You’re awake,” Élise says softly. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear her approaching, and as she stands next to him, he barely recognizes her. She’s drying her hands on an apron she borrowed from Marcera, her cheeks flushed from standing near the fire in the kitchen, a scarf tied around her head to keep her hair out of her face. She’s wearing one of the dresses she received from Faustine before they left to travel down South. If it wasn’t for her wild red locks escaping her scarf and those emerald eyes he adores, he would have mistaken her for one of the maids who used to work at the Café-Théâtre. “We could hear you snore from over there, but we knew you needed the rest. Is there anything I can do for you?” she continues.

With a half-smile, he places his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close, resting his head on her belly. “No, thank you.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers twining in his hair. She noticed a sharp change in his demeanor since the attack the day before, having lost the usual light in his eyes. She can feel the strain in the muscles of his neck and his shoulders. _I want to help you, Arno. Please allow me to care for you,_ she prays silently.They hold each other for a moment in a silent embrace, as she rubs the back of his neck with her fingers, trying to ease his tension.

“Earlier, you asked me what felt like home,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “ _This_ feels like home. You, me, and the baby of course,” he says before planting a kiss on her belly.

She chuckles lightly. “That’s some deep thoughts going through that head of yours! But you’re right. Home is where the heart is, after all…” She takes a deep sigh, torn between staying with him and holding him in her arms, and her duty in the kitchen. “I have to go back to help set the table for this evening, are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m fine. I’ll find something to keep my mind occupied, while this body of mine is useless...” he says in a low voice, looking up to meet her gaze.

“I’m right over there if you need me. I love you,” she says with a warm smile, trying to lift his spirits up. She gives his healthy shoulder a squeeze before returning to the kitchen.

* * *

“I’m delighted to see you decided to stay!” Fabian calls from the front door, returning home after his working day, his son Francis following behind him after spending his free time after school tinkering in the shed. Dinner is almost ready, and there’s a bustling of activity in the house, as the three women come and go from the kitchen to the dining room, carrying warm dishes, bread and wine. It was decided that for their first meal together, they would eat in the formal dining room, with its lusciously decorated wooden table and chairs, and elegant crystal chandelier. For a moment, as she steps in the room for the first time, Élise is being transported back to distant childhood memories of her parents welcoming notable guests for formal dinners. She didn’t understand the significance of all the decorum back then, and most of the times she simply did as she was told -- she sat at the table next to her father and pretended to follow the adult conversations around her. Behind her, Arno’s voice brings her back to the present time.

“We’ll have to pay you back somehow, all this food, and everything else you’re doing for us…” Arno says as he sits at the table, helped by Fabian and his young son Francis.

“Nonsense! Don’t worry about a thing, you have enough on your minds as it is,” Fabian insists. He sits at one end of the table.

“Did you know Élise is a fellow Demoiselle de Saint-Cyr, dear? I was so delighted to find out we had something in common, what are the odds?” Marcera chimes in, bringing the last dish to the table. “We had a bit of a chat this afternoon, getting to know each other. And she also helped me with dinner.”

“Helped is a bit much, Marcera. I was more of a bother than a real help!” Élise chuckles, as she sits next to Arno.

“I thought you did very well for someone who says she can’t cook. And I’d be happy to show you more… if you want, of course,” Clara says timidly. She is fascinated by Élise, admiring her self-assurance and her grace, and she eagerly looks forward to spend more time with her.

The invitation warmed Élise’s heart. _Maybe I’ll have a friend here after all_ , she thinks to herself. _And I need all the help I can get to become more… domestic._ “You’re so sweet, Clara. I would love that.”

Everyone is now sitting around the table: Arno sitting to the left of Élise, Clara and Francis sitting across them, Marcera and Fabian sitting at opposite ends of the table. The various dishes are being passed around, each person scooping servings of food onto their plates, while wine glasses are being filled. Immediately, Élise takes Arno’s plate to cut the meat and vegetables in bite-size pieces before putting his plate back in front of him. He looks at her with a smile, but she’s not looking at him, already busy breaking the bread in small chunks that she places on his bread plate.

Fabian raises his glass. “Before we enjoy this delicious meal, a toast to the lovely ladies who worked hard preparing it, and to our guests who are still honoring us by their presence. Cheers!”

Arno casts a side look at Élise, who is pretending to drink her wine. She finally notices him looking at her, and she gives him a playful smile. He returns her smile before clearing his throat. “Thank you for your hospitality, Fabian, Marcera, Clara and Francis. Honestly, we’re pinching ourselves, we still can’t believe our luck. One day, we’re on the road, and the next we’re in a beautiful and welcoming home, having a delicious dinner. Fate must have put us on each other’s paths. I’m curious to discover why.”

“The feeling is mutual. I presume you didn’t explore the town today?” Fabian asks as he takes another sip of wine.

“No, we definitely needed to recover from yesterday’s adventure. And the rain didn’t help,” Arno admits. _And I don’t think I’ll be able to go exploring anytime soon_ , he thinks to himself.

“What happened? Did you meet bandits? Did you fight them? Did you kill them?” Francis asks Arno breathlessly, his eyes open wide in anticipation of the most terrifying stories.

Arno looks nervously at Élise, and she nods calmly. He takes a deep breath to gather his thoughts, and to push aside the gruesome images that flash before his eyes as he recalls the attack. “Yes, we were ambushed by road bandits, who attempted to steal money and valuables from us. We offered a peaceful resolution, but… how can I explain this… Élise and I have received extensive training in sword fighting, among other fighting skills, since our childhood. It was something Élise’s parents thought was very important. The bandits refused to retreat and let us pass…” He hesitates for a moment. “... and things escalated.” He can’t bring himself to recount the fight. He swallows hard, looking down to his plate. Under the table, Élise puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently, as if to say _It’s okay, I’ll take it from here_. The corner of his mouth twitch as he attempts a faint smile. Forks and knives in the air, four pairs of eyes and ears are focused on them, awaiting the rest of the story.

“Arno inadvertently tripped and injured himself when he was fighting several men at the same time,” Élise continues after a moment, breaking the overwhelming silence. “I wasn’t going to leave him to his demise, even though I’m carrying a child. So I jumped in the fight… and I made sure we would be the ones staying alive,” she adds gravely.

As the penny drops, one by one, their facial expressions turns from fascinated to grim.

Clara is the first to speak. “I think you were very brave, fighting those bandits. I could never do that...” she says in a low voice. She smiles warmly at Élise, her eyes filled with admiration -- and envy. _If only I had just one ounce of her confidence_ , she thinks to herself.

Élise returns her smile. “I don’t know if it was bravery. I had to defend my husband’s life, my baby’s life, and my own. It’s survival instinct speaking more than anything else. In such a situation, you act first, then think about the consequences.”

“I’m sure you’re thinking we’re horrible people for having taken other people’s lives...” Arno adds prudently, afraid the admission of killing the bandits would result in an early break in the budding friendship between them and the Lacoste.

Fabian shakes his head in disagreement. “I don’t. You did what you had to do to save your own lives. These people were criminals. They chose this path, knowing the risks. You’re not their first victims, word was going around in town for a few weeks already that a bunch of brigands were asking for payment in exchange of a laissez-passer. The gendarmes were on their heels, but so far, they were unsuccessful in catching them. They were always one step ahead, moving from one location to the other. If anything, you’ve saved this town from those crooks. The people of Sisteron should be thanking you.” He raises his glass to his guests.

“Well said, dear. Well said,” Marcera adds, nodding vehemently. “We are in no position to judge. You were just defending yourself, and your baby. You were just being a good mother, that’s all.” Upon hearing Marcera’s words, Élise think of the ambush in the dark alley, when she was just six years old. _I learned from the best of mothers how to defend my daughter,_ she thinks with a smile.

“I still think you are very brave,” Clara reiterates.

“Will you teach me how to fight?” Francis asks Arno, unable to hide his excitement.

“When I can move my arm again, perhaps,” Arno replies with a large grin. He had to admit, he liked the boy. His energy, his enthusiasm, his unmistakable cleverness.

“So you’re staying?” says the boy, overcome with joy at the thought of learning to fight -- something his older brothers and his father never bothered to teach him: his father always too busy with work and council meetings, and his older brothers thought of him to be too short, too scrawny, and too young to fight.

“I haven’t said that…” Arno corrects him playfully.

“Oh I just remembered,” Marcera interrupts. “Arno was saying earlier today that they are looking for a farm. Isn’t the Castel’s farm up for auction next week?” she asks her husband.

It’s now Arno and Élise’s turn to stop in their tracks, forks and knives in the air, eyes and ears focused on what their hosts had to say. _Could this be…?_

Fabian nods. “Yes, this is correct. The poor old chap, his wife passed away about 10 years ago. He couldn’t take care of the farm on his own, and he gave all the animals away. But the buildings are still functional and most in a decent state considering their age. They never had any children, when he died last month, no family member showed up to claim the farm. And so it became property of the city, and it will be put up for auction next week. Whoever has the most money in his pockets can certainly own it.”

Mouths agape, they are processing Fabian’s words. A farm. Up for auction next week. No animals, but with functional buildings. “Where… where is this farm?” Arno stutters, having a hard time believing what he just heard. His dream is perhaps closer than he thought.

“Actually, right next door! But of course not literally, the farm is situated on a sizeable portion of land,” Fabian explains.

“Do you have any idea how much it could fetch?” Élise asks hurriedly.

“Élise, we’d probably want to see it first before thinking of making an offer?” Arno sneers under his breath. He acknowledges her keen interest in the farm, but his own survival instinct, one that curbs his enthusiasm to protect himself from disappointments, is taking over.

“Yes, of course, but… if it’s out of our budget, seeing it won’t make it cheaper…” Élise retorts.

“As I said, it’s situated on a large piece of land,” Fabian interrupts. “This alone is worth a lot of money. There are several buildings -- a large 2-storey house, plus stables, barns, and sheds. Some might need more tender loving care than others… But nonetheless, you’re looking at several thousand livres.”

They take a moment to consider what he said. Several thousand livres… Can they even afford it? As excited as they are about the idea of finally settling down and live their dream, they can’t imagine making an offer before visiting the farm.

“Do you think we could see it? Do you think we could visit it?” Élise asks anxiously.

Fabian hesitates. These auctions are always ‘as is’, and any exception to the rule could potentially cost him his job. But took such a fondness in the young couple, that he was willing to take the risk.  “It’s not usual to bring visitors before auction, but seeing you are not from around here, I suppose we can make an exception. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Élise can go with you. I’ll stay here…” Arno says, shaking his head.

“Oh Arno, no. You have to come too,” Élise says, reaching under the table to take his right hand in hers.

“I can’t walk. And I can’t use a crutch or a cane, because I can’t use my left arm. It’s no use for me to be going,” he explains.  
“We’ll figure out something,” she says encouragingly. _Arno, it’s not like you to give up. What’s going on in that head of yours?_ she thinks to herself, her eyes searching to meet his gaze, but he purposely avoids it.

“We can at least take you by carriage and give you a tour of the property. Élise can have a look inside the house,” Fabian suggests.

“See? You don’t have to stay behind. We’re in this together, remember?” she says, squeezing his hand. He finally turns towards her to meet her gaze, forcing a smile.

“Can I come too, father?” the boy begs. “Please?”

“We’ll go after school. Yes, you can come,” his father agrees.

“Clara, you’ll stay with me to help around the house, won’t you?” Marcera asks, her eyebrow raised.

“Yes, mother,” the young girl replies, an obvious disappointment in her voice.

Fabian hits the edge of the table with the palm of his hand. “Well, that’s settled. You said fate must have put us on each other’s paths. I think you were right. I’m sincerely hoping you’ll fall in love with the farm and decide to stay!”

* * *

They retreat to their room after the evening meal. She is kneeling behind him, brush in hand, finishing to brush her own hair before caring for his. He is sitting at the edge of the bed, his body slumped down, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index, fighting the onset of a headache.

“I hope the farm is not too big. Otherwise it will cost a fortune. But I hope the house is nice. I want a big house. With enough bedrooms for all our children. Oh and maybe we could convert one of the barns into a training room or something? We have to teach the children to fight anyway, and we have to stay sharp ourselves. I promised Freddie… Arno, are you listening? You’re not saying anything.”

He sighs loudly, exasperated by her lively chatter. “I am listening!” he says louder than he intended.

Lost in her own chirpy ramblings, she doesn’t notice his growing annoyance. “Aren’t you excited? Maybe this is it, the opportunity we were waiting for. Maybe we’ll find our home here.” He keeps silent, staring down at the floor. She frowns. “Why are you in such a bad mood? You’re spoiling all the fun!”

He sighs deeply, looking for the rights words to say. _Yes, you’ve been in a bad mood today, Arno, and you’re taking it out on her now. She doesn’t deserve that, she’s doing her best to take care of you. What’s wrong with you?_ he scolds himself.“I’m not in a bad mood, I’m just being… careful. I don’t want to be disappointed if it turns out it’s not what we’re looking for.”

A silent ‘awwwww’ escapes her lips. Casting the hairbrush aside, she moves closer to him, her legs on each side of his hips, her belly nestling within the curve of his back, her arms wrapped around his waist. She rests her cheek on the back of his shoulder. “You’ve been brooding all day. What’s wrong? Talk to me,” she says softly.

The warmth of her body against his doesn't have its usual soothing effect on him, the tight knot in his stomach feeling tighter and tighter instead. He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just don’t want to get too excited, that’s all. You know how important this is to me, you know how I want to find a home for us and the baby. You know how I long for stability, for a family, with you...”

“I know, I know,” she says, bringing a hand up to brush his hair aside, her lips leaving a trail of kisses along his spine, up to the back of his neck. “But there’s more. I can feel it. Are you still brooding over what happened yesterday?”

“If only it was just that,” he scoffs. “Yes, of course I am. I failed, miserably, and I don’t like failing. Not when it could mean you or the baby getting hurt. You know it’s my biggest fear, I can’t let that happen, and I let it happen _again_ …” His jaw tenses, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. “And now, I’m completely useless. You have to do everything for me…” he mutters.

“Is that such a terrible thing? Arno, my love, I’ve never seen you like this, and it breaks my heart,” she says, her voice quivering a little. _No, that’s not true, I’ve seen you like this before, Arno_ , she thinks to herself. _In Versailles, when you were drinking yourself to oblivion. Take my hand, let me help you_.

“I’ve never felt this exhausted ever in my life,” he says with a loud sigh.

She releases him from her embrace, moving to the edge of the bed to sit next to him. She puts one arm around his back and her other hand on his shoulder. “The past months, you’ve been my rock, my anchor in a storm, you’ve held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own feet, you’ve dealt with my tantrums, all without a word, without complaining. You’ve arranged the wedding, you’ve arranged for the sale of the Café-Théâtre and our departure from Paris, and you’ve travelled to England and back to bring Freddie to me, all without a word, without complaining. And the past years, you’ve fought hard, and quite often on your own, to get us to this ultimate fight against Germain. All without a word, without complaining. Now, it’s time you sit back, relax, and let yourself get pampered by your loving wife, who is more than happy to return all the love and devotion you showed her when she needed you most.”

“I just did what I had to do,” he mumbles.

She gets off the bed, coming to stand before him. She takes his head in her hands, lifting it up, coaxing him into meeting her gaze. Her heart breaks a little more when she sees how his deep brown eyes seem to have lost their spark.

“You’ve also lost two father figures in a short amount of time. One of which…” She sighs deeply, gathering her thoughts. “One of which was probably one of the hardest decisions one could ever have to make.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, looking away.

“You don’t have to now, but I'll be there for you whenever you want to. I can’t pretend to know how you felt at that moment, but if there’s anyone who understands what it feels like to let guilt and pain consume you, it's me. You saw it, you saw me, when I shot Robespierre…” Her voice trails. “I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. How you snapped, in Versailles… I know it was my fault, I pushed you too far… but perhaps it was a sign. I won’t let you fall apart. Ruddock attacking me was my tipping point, that last blow that finally brought me to my knees. And yesterday’s surprise ambush was yours. I’m not the only one who needs to heal. You need to heal too. Give yourself time.”

He impatiently pushes her hands away from his face. “But there is no time, Élise! If we buy that farm, it will need patching up, renovations, for sure… It’s my responsibility to provide for you and the children. It’s my responsibility to ensure we have a roof over our heads, and to ensure that we are safe. I know you don’t want to hear ‘but, you’re pregnant’ ever again, but you are, that’s a fact. You might feel full of energy today, but what about in two or three months from now? What if I still can’t be of any use, I can’t let you do it all on your own, it’s unfair to you, it’s unfair to the baby…” he retorts, groaning in frustration, looking up to the ceiling. _Of course she’s right_ , he thinks to himself. _Of course I need to heal too -- later maybe, but not now..._

Undaunted, she carefully places a hand on his cheek, half expecting to be pushed away. But he lets her touch him, rubbing his cheek into her hand. “There’s never a good time to heal. You just need to take it,” she says softly. “Stop brooding, stop worrying so much. Everything will fall into place, you’ll see. And let me take care of you, please. Lean on me, for once.”

Without a word, he leans into her, his head buried in her chest, his good arm coiled tightly around the small of her back. She threads her fingers in his hair at the back of his head, holding him close. She can feel his warm breath on her skin, his shoulders rising and falling as he fights the sobs that are building inside.She simply holds him in her arms for several long minutes, humming softly, until his breathing slows down, and the tension in his muscles relaxes. Slowly, he pulls away from her arms, straightening his back. She smiles tenderly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

He forces a faint smile, staring deeply into her eyes.

"See? Leaning on your wife isn't so bad, is it?" she says with a chuckle.

His smile widens, turning into a genuine smile. “You know, it was fascinating to observe you today. I’m seeing a side of you I’ve never seen before. Behind that vengeful, fierce, and fiery façade, there’s a tender, loving and caring mother slowly emerging. And it seems to come so naturally. I’ve always known you’d be a great mother…” he says, placing his hand on her belly.

She puts her hand over his, slowly caressing it. “It’s all thanks to you. I never thought of myself as mother material. You made me become a mother by default, getting me pregnant. But you are making me _want_ to become one. It was _your_ dream to have a family, Arno. It’s now my dream too. And with your love, you make me want to become a better person, and embrace a side of myself I never thought existed. You’re that piece of the puzzle that was missing, you make me complete,” she says, tears pricking her eyes.

“I love you, I love you so much…” he says, burying his head in her chest once more, pulling her close.

She runs her fingers through his hair, kissing the top of his head. “All the same, my love, all the same. I love you."

He takes several slow deep breaths, feeling the knot in his stomach ease away, little by little. "I promise I’ll take the time I need to heal. And it starts right now: I definitely need more sleep...” he says wearily.

“You’re right, and I could use another full night like the last one. That felt heavenly! You know, cooking is exhausting, and my back is sore from standing on my feet for hours…” she says as she helps him lie down and tucks him in, fluffing and arranging his pillows so he is as comfortable as possible.

Her admission makes him laugh out loud. “Wait until you have several more mouths to feed, and a house to keep tidy, and dirty clothes to wash, and a garden to maintain, and all those little hands clinging to your skirts crying ‘Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!’…” he teases, poking her side with his index finger while she crawls into bed next to him.  
She starts giggling, his finger tickling her. "STOP! Maybe I’m not _that_ ready to be a mother after all… it sounds all so daunting…” she admits with an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes, you are. And you’ll do fine. Your food was delicious today, I know the gratin was yours.” He opens his arm, inviting her to settle next to him.

She accepts his invitation, humming in delight, her head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you. But you have to give at least 75% of the credit to Clara. Such a sweet girl. I like her, a lot. She reminds me of Hélène. And little boy Francis really likes you. I think he found himself a mentor!”

He turns his head towards her, frowning. “A mentor for what?”

“He wants to work with his hands and build things," she explains. "His older brothers are married and have a life of their own, he’s alone with his older sister, who is extremely shy and clearly not interested in any of his boyish shenanigans. And here comes this charismatic stranger covered with battle scars, who might even buy the farm next doors. I bet he’ll be visiting often to see if you need help!”

“I’m not charismatic!” he chortles.

“Oh but you are! There’s something about you, how you walk, how you talk. How you carry yourself. People respect you. And remember how the staff of the Café treated you when we got married, and when we said goodbye?”

“They were just being nice, I was their employer after all…” he says with a weak smile, dismissing her words.

“They respected you because you respected them, Arno. You always treated them more than fairly, like they were your equal. I love that about you. Your generosity, your kindness, your selflessness. And that will make you the best of fathers," she says, her hand gliding over his stomach to pull herself closer to him.

“Are you saying all this to make me feel better?” he asks, a note of hesitation in his voice..

“Is it working?” she retorts with a large grin.

“Only if you mean it…” he mumbles.

“Of course I mean it!" she exclaims, sighing loudly in frustration. "Oh Arno, we have to do something about that insecurity of yours! Let me speak to the frightened 8-year old boy in you, who I think is at the root of all this." She props her head on her hand, her gazed locked on his. "Dear frightened 8-year old Arno, with gorgeous big brown eyes and the cutest of little green coats, I just want to tell you that everything is going to be okay. You will grow up to become a drop-dead handsome man, a strong man, a respected man, and a great leader. You will get married, have many, many children, and live in a beautiful home surrounded by your own family. And most of all, you will be loved, and you will never be alone ever again. Do not be afraid, and have faith in yourself and in your future. With all my love, your Élise, always and forever. P.S.: You will also develop a fascination for my arse, and won't resist fondling and smacking it. Just thought I'd mention it."

He bursts in laughter, and she quickly follows suit. A deep, heartfelt laughter, the kind that they so rarely allow themselves to surrender to. Once their laughter calm down to a giggle, they stare in each other's eyes again, grinning widely.

“You remember… what I was wearing and all…” he says with a light chuckle, running his fingers up and down her back.

“Of course I do. I can never forget that day, the tragic day our paths crossed.”

“The day you bewitched me with your smile. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been without you... Thank you for your kind words. They do help."

“Have faith in yourself, my love. I have faith in you. And now, let’s sleep!” She leaves his arms for a moment to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, then lies her head down on his shoulder again, snuggling close. _Who needs a fireplace when you can sleep next to a furnace?_ she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes. Suddenly, a thought crosses her mind.

“Arno?”

“Yes…?”

She hesitates. “How old were you… when you lost your mother?”

He frowns. Her question is taking him aback, and he finds himself unable to give an answer. He has retained so few memories of his mother, her very existence buried deep at the back of his mind, almost forgotten. "I… I have no idea…” he manages.

“And what did she die of?” she continues.

“I… I really have no idea, my father never said anything… I just remember that one day… she was gone, and from that my moment on, it was just my father and me… It’s all so fuzzy in my mind, I must have been very young," he says, his impatience -- and his headache -- rapidly growing.

“You never talk about her," she insists.

“Because there is nothing to talk about," he snaps. "Her name was Marie, she was from Austria. And she’s dead. That’s all you ever need to now. Can we… not talk about her? Ever?” He feels another knot forming in his stomach.

She is puzzled by his reaction. Having lost her mother at a young age herself, she knows it must have been difficult for him, to be raised only by his father -- and a successor nannies, she can only assume. _Did I hit a nerve?_ she wonders, now regretting ever asking. “I’m sorry, I was just curious. Please forgive me," she says, contrite. "I promise I won't talk about her ever again.”

He sighs deeply, but his chest feels tight, and it’s hard to breathe. He lies awake for several hours, as he searches for answers. And the deeper he digs in his mind to unlock stashed memories, the more blurry and confused the images become.

* * *

**October 30, 1794**  

> _Papa,_
> 
> _here is something happening with Élise: she’s blossoming. She’s beautiful and fierce as ever -- even more so perhaps. I never imagined I could love her more than I already did, but I’m falling in love all over again with this new Élise emerging right before my eyes -- Élise the mother. The baby in her womb is growing day by day, and I marvel at this new life we created. I cannot wait to hold this baby in my arms, and give him or her all the love I hold in my heart. We are still in search for a home, a safe haven, but I feel we are getting close, so close to our dream._
> 
> _Meanwhile, I sit here with a million burning questions, but you are not here to give me the answers I yearn for, the truth I need to find peace of mind._
> 
> _What happened to Mama? Did she fall ill? Did she fall from the blade of an enemy -- from the Templars?_
> 
> _You’ve always told me she went to heaven, but I don’t remember a wake, I don’t remember seeing her body being carried away, I don’t remember attending her funeral. I don’t remember anything. And we never visited her grave. Was I too young to remember any of it? Or did you think  it was better to keep me away from all this to protect me? I am not blaming you if you did, I would doubtlessly do the same with my own children if judge they would be too young to understand._
> 
> _Papa, if you hear my plea, give me a sign. Give me a clue. Lead me to the answers I ache for._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Arno_

Sitting at the large oakwood desk facing the window, absorbed in his thoughts, Arno doesn’t hear Élise enter the study, down the hall from the kitchen. She is wearing a woolen cape over her heavy velvet dress, and fingerless mittens to protect her wrists and forearms from the cold. She is carrying his coat over her arm. He jolts in surprise when she kisses the top of his head.

“Élise! You scared me, I didn’t hear you come in…” he says, catching his breath.

“What are you writing?” she asks, noticing the open notebook in front of him.

“Nothing… just… nothing…” he says hurriedly, trying to cover the page with his hand, smudging the wet ink.

“Let me see…” she insists, reaching to grab the notebook.

“NO! This is private!” he shouts, snatching the notebook away and closing it before she can touch it. All these years, he’s been hiding from her all the letters he wrote to his father. At first, as a tool to deal with his father’s death; and later, as an extension of his journals, to gather his thoughts, to find inner peace in times of turmoil.

She raises a hand in defeat. “Fine, fine... “

“You certainly didn’t come in to spy on my writings?” he snarls, clutching the closed notebook to his chest.

“No, I came to tell you we’re about to go visit the farm, and to help you put your coat on,” she says calmly, but firmly.

With a loud sigh, he gets off his chair with difficulty, struggling to keep his balance. “I don’t think it’s a good idea… I’m sure you can do this on your own…” he mumbles, dropping the notebook on the desk.

 _I knew you were going to be fussy_ , she groans internally. “Arno, you are coming, whether you want to or not. You kicked me out of bed when I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I’m doing the same right now. Here, your coat…” She comes to stand behind him, holding his coat up. Rolling his eyes, he slips his right arm through the sleeve, and she drapes the other side over his injured shoulder. “Come on, they are waiting,” she says, offering her arm for support.

* * *

As described by Fabian, the farm is located on the allotment adjacent to his property. A path uphill leads to the house and the main outbuildings.  

Élise gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, before breaking in a wide grin. “Oh Arno, look…” She can’t take her eyes off the charming stone house with slate roof, and the high pine trees towering over it. The trees have lost their leaves, and what used to be the flowery garden has whittled and died a long time ago, but the yard is inviting and needs a just bit of tender loving care to be restored to its former beauty.

Arno is looking warily through the window of the carriage, craning his neck to get a better view of the property. His eyes are seeing a beautiful house and landscaping, outbuildings in fairly decent condition -- the safe haven they have been looking for. _Seeing this farm is one thing, buying it and making it ours is anothe_ r, he thinks to himself.

The carriage hasn’t even stopped moving completely, and Élise is already opening the door and hopping off.

“I’ll stay right here… never mind me…” Arno calls from inside the carriage, laughing and shaking his head at her enthusiasm.

Leaving Arno behind, she hastily walks to the front door of the house, flanked by Francis and Fabian, the latter unlocking the door with a heavy metal key.

She gasps again as she sets foot inside the house. There is thin layer of dust covering the floor and the tired, dated furniture, but her eyes aren’t seeing it. Instantly, her mind is flooded with images from her imagination, of the whole family sitting around the imposing wooden table in the middle of the room, of hearty meals being cooked over the hearth, and of cold winter nights by the fireplace.

“What do you think?” Fabian asks, closing the door behind them.

She opens and closes her mouth several times, unable to speak. “I… It’s… I’m sorry, Arno has to see this…” she manages, wiping a tear away from her cheek.

Fabian chuckles, both amused and pleased with her reaction. “We’ll fetch him, but please, feel free to explore the house…”

She nods, stepping away from the door. She walks slowly towards the table, drinking in all the details, from the kitchen to the sitting room, from the curtains at the windows to the tapestries on the walls, picturing herself, Arno, and the children living in this house. She is torn between impatiently running upstairs to take a look at the bedrooms, and waiting for Arno to come.

Finally, several minutes later, aided by Fabian and Francis, Arno steps inside the house. She rushes to him, grinning widely, taking his hand as he stands awkwardly in the doorway balancing on one foot. His eyes are scanning the room, a smile etching on his lips.

“Do you see what I’m seeing? Do you feel what I’m feeling? Home. This feels like home, doesn’t it?” she asks, letting go of his hand and going to stand in the middle of the kitchen. “Can you see it?” she continues. “The children gathered at this table? Or in front of the fireplace?” She hurries back to him, her arms coiling around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Please tell me you’re seeing it too?”

“I do, I do…” he sighs. At long last, deep in his heart, this feeling he has been looking for during these never-ending weeks of travelling -- _home_. Despite the cold and damp, the house feels warm, comfortable, and safe. He can easily imagine the children running around the kitchen, or up and down the stairs. And them, the parents, gently scolding them for getting into trouble, yet again.

“Still trying to protect yourself from a disappointment?” she asks, interrupting his reverie.

“I can’t help it. But yes, this… feels like home,” he admits with a large smile.

“Let’s explore the rest of the house!” She takes his hand, willing him to follow her.

“Élise, not so fast, I can’t walk…” he groans, yanking her back.

“Let me help you!” Francis offers. He is at least one head shorter than Arno, but this doesn’t stop him from promptly presenting his arm for support. Arno smiles at the boy’s keenness to help.

The four of them continue checking out the rest of the ground floor -- the scullery, the sitting room, and another room adjacent to the sitting room that could be converted to a study.

“Arno, it’s perfect…” Élise murmurs as they head back to the kitchen.

“We haven’t checked the bedrooms yet!” he teases.

“Shall we?” she says, motioning with her head for him to follow her.

He shakes his head. “I really can’t climb that many stairs… Please, you go along with Fabian, I’ll stay right here with my buddy Francis…” he says, turning his head towards Francis, who is grinning widely.

“But I really want you to see them too!” she insists, her lips pursed in a childish pout.

“I trust you,” he reassures her. _Stop that pouting, you know I can’t resist your pouty lips_ , he thinks to himself.

She nods in understanding, and followed by Fabian, she climbs the staircase to the upper floor. They can hear their muffled footsteps on the wooden boards, their conversation only a murmur. “So you’re gonna stay?” Francis asks, pawing the floor with his foot, sweeping the dust aside.

Arno chuckles. “Not so fast, we still have to buy this place. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He looks down to catch the boy’s clever gaze.

“The old guy was nice. He was letting me help him and fix things around the house, after school. I don’t like school, I’d prefer to work…” he says timidly.

“School is important. If you want to build a house, or even furniture, you need to be able to calculate, to measure. Are you good at Maths?” Arno asks. He was never the most assiduous student himself, having to sit still for long hours and fighting the urge to go outside and play proving to be impossible on most days. Time and time again, the tutors would catch him staring out the window, daydreaming about that higher branch he wanted to climb, or that new parry move he learned the day before when training with Élise’s father. But if there was one subject he excelled in, it was Maths. Playing with numbers, juggling abstract concepts to find solutions to a problem -- there isn’t much difference with investigating clues during a mission, plotting an attack on an enemy, or analyzing an opponent’s fighting technique to find his weaknesses.

“I’m not so bad,” the boy answers with a shrug.

“Then keep at it. You'll thank me later.”

"If you buy the farm, can I come around and help you?"

"Let's make a deal. If we buy the farm, you can come and give me a hand from time to time. And I'll teach you how to fight, as I promised.”

"Really? Thank you!" the boy cheers.

Arno raises his finger to stop him. "On one condition... only after school. And only if you're done with your chores at home. If I hear your mother asked you to do something and you didn't listen, I'll send you back home immediately." _I sound just like my father_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. _Bless you Papa, wherever you are_.

"That's not fair!" Francis whines, crossing arms over his chest.

Arno extends his hand to the boy. "Do we have a deal?" he says with a smirk.

Francis takes Arno’s extended hand to shake it, hesitantly at first, then energetically. "Alright. Deal!"

Arno nods. "Good. And stay in school,” he scolds playfully, waving his finger in front of the boy’s face.

"Pff you're worse than my father..." Francis scoffs.

"Is he?" Élise asks as she sets her foot off the last step of the staircase. She heard the last part of their conversation, finding Arno’s fatherly tone rather amusing and endearing.

“And?” Arno asks, taking a few hopping steps towards the staircase.

She is beaming. “One master bedroom that looks very cozy, if you know what I mean,” she says cheekily. “And three tiny bedrooms for the children to share…”

“Do you think it’s enough?” he chuckles.

“How many children do you have in mind?”

“Many, many, many…” he says softly as he presses his lips on hers for a kiss.

“Then you’ll have to build another floor, it’s a simple as that!” she says, breaking the kiss.

“Maybe Francis can take care of that when he’s older?” Arno suggests, casting a side look at Francis, who is nodding enthusiastically.

“I want to buy this farm...” she says dreamily, resting her head on Arno’s chest.

“We have to check the outbuildings first!” he reminds her.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

Back in the carriage, sitting comfortably next to each other, they tour around the property, taking the gravel road leading to the main outbuildings: stables, barns, sheds, with enclosures to keep animals. Behind the house, they uncover a large vegetable patch next to the flower garden, and a yard for the children to play in. As the carriage rolls around the corner of the house, making their way back to their hosts’ house, they are presented with the most breathtaking view of the town and the Durance river.

“Are we really doing this?” Élise asks, turning her head towards him to meet his gaze, but he is looking down to the floor of the carriage, lost in his thoughts. She can almost see the calculations running through his mind.

“If we can afford it. We have to impose ourselves a limit. We spent a lot of money on the carriage and the horses…” Arno reasons.

“Tsk tsk. Correction: YOU spent a lot of money on the carriage and the horses!”

“Yes, I know. But we also went over budget on lodging and food. Bloody inflation. And we’ll need to live off our savings for the first year at least, before we can make enough money from the farm...”

“There’s always the estate…” she suggests.

He shakes his head. “No keep it. This is our security buffer.”

“What’s our soft limit?”

“Is 20,000 enough, you think?”

“I honestly don’t have a clue,” she shrugs. “What’s our _hard_ limit, then? In case the bids go beyond 20,000, but we desperately want this farm and are insane enough to go for it?”

“30,000?”

“That sounds about right, I suppose,” she nods pensively. _Will it even be enough?_ she wonders.

The farm is everything they could ever wish for, but they both know it will come at a price.

* * *

**November 6, 1794**

A voice calls her name in the middle of the night, stirring her awake.

“Arno?” she mumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Next to her, Arno stirs and whimpers in his sleep, calling her name again. From his furrowed brow, his tense jaw, and the beads of sweat on his forehead, she can only guess he’s having a nightmare.

“Shhhhh, I’m here, I’m here…” She moves closer, pressing her body against his, delicately caressing his cheek. “What are you dreaming about, my love?”

He doesn’t wake up, but her gentle touch and the sound of her voice appear to have a calming effect, and gradually, his features soften and the whimpering ceases.

She watches him sleep for a while, as she struggles to fall back asleep herself. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach taking flight, thinking about the auction taking place later that day. “We are so close to our dream, yet so far away…” she says softly, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Élise enters the room as quietly as she can, carrying a heavy wooden tray with Arno’s breakfast. She tiptoes to the side of the bed, laying the tray on the bedside table, cringing at the clunking noise of the porcelain plate hitting the teapot. Sprawled on the bed, blanket and sheets bunched around his waist as usual, he is sleeping peacefully, lips parted and gently snoring, showing no signs of his earlier nightmare. _It’s all part of the healing process, my love. I’ve had nightmares too -- and still am_ , she thinks to herself, letting out a sigh. She carefully sits on the edge of the bed, reaching to caress his forehead and his cheek with her hand. “Arno, wake up..." she murmurs.

He stirs and frowns, a faint smile appearing on his lips as he sees her upon opening his eyes. "Good morning! Did you sleep well?" she asks. She decides to not mention the nightmare unless he does himself.

"Not really. Too much to drink last night, and too nervous,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes, then yawning loudly.

"I woke up too early myself, then I had butterflies in my stomach and I couldn't find sleep anymore. Once I heard our hosts were awake, I got out of bed, went to the kitchen... and I made you breakfast,” she announces proudly.

"You made me breakfast?" he says, breaking into a wide smile in surprise.

She returns his smile, feeling herself blush. "I made you pancakes, you like pancakes, right? I realize I don't even know your favorite dishes. It's a bit pathetic for a wife to not know her husband’s favorite dishes..." she chastises herself.

"I love pancakes. And you really made them yourself?" he asks with a smirk.

She glowers at him and plants her fists on her hips. "Are you calling me a liar? Clara helped me, of course. And judging from the appearance of the pancakes on this plate, I'm sure you can guess which one was mine...” She helps him sit in bed, rearranging the pillows behind his back and under his elbow, and hands him the plate. One week after the ambush attack, he still can’t use his left arm without pain. His left ankle, on the other hand, can bear his weight for walking short distances with a limp, or standing for limited periods of time.

He can’t help but laugh as he sees the one weirdly shaped and badly flipped pancake. "I'm sure it's delicious,” he says with a wink, before taking a bite of her pancake. “And it is indeed delicious.  Thank you, my love.”

“Tea?”

He nods. “Are you sure about the farm? About Sisteron?"

She pours a cup of tea for him, putting it within his reach. "It felt like home -- you felt it too, didn't you? We are blessed for having met these wonderful people, I don't think we'll have the same luck somewhere else. And if I can be honest with you, these past days, I think it’s the first time in my whole life I’ve allowed myself to stop constantly looking over my shoulder. On the other hand…”

“What’s worrying you?” he asks, frowning.

“Marcera introduced me to the town's midwife yesterday, she seemed nice. Then she introduced me to several of her friends. It was very intimidating being the stranger, the only redhead miles around, the one with the accent... being judged for who I am, for what I say, for what I do. Every single one of them commenting on my weight, how I’m hurting the baby…” She looks away, clawing at her skirt in anger. “I just wanted to punch their wry smiles off their face… They don’t know where I come from, they don’t know what I’ve been through, how dare they judge me like that? And I bet they’ll judge how we raise our children too..." she sneers.

He puts the plate aside, taking her hand in is. "We'll be judged by everyone, wherever we go. This isn’t Paris, where no one cares about anyone. We'll have to get used to it."

"It’s easy for you to say, you look like a local with your dark hair and dark eyes. You can just blend in, while I’m definitely standing out in a crowd. It won't be easy to settle in. Learning their language, their habits, their customs.”

“We’ll manage. And don’t take their comments too seriously. They’re just old hags, judging and gossiping are their favorite hobbies. I’m sure they don’t even mean any harm,” he says reassuringly, squeezing her hand gently.

She gives him a half smile.“Arno, my dear Arno. Here you are, picking up my pieces and putting me back together again, while I’m supposed to be the one caring for you.”

“We care _for each other_ \-- your own words. And Madame Élise Dorian, since when do you care about what others think of you or your behavior?"

“I knew you’d use those words against me one day!” she laughs. “And it's the baby's fault, making me all soft inside...”

He lets go of her hand to bring the plate back on his lap, finishing to eat his breakfast, as she gathers his clothes for the day. The auction is scheduled to start in an hour, and there is no time to waste. "Your pancakes were delicious, and thank you for bringing me breakfast in bed. It was a nice surprise."

"Don't get too used to it!” she teases, taking his empty plate and placing it back on the tray. “Oh and by the way, the midwife said we’re having a girl!" she says casually, and immediately biting her lip.

He frowns, trying to hide his disappointment. Of course he wants a daughter -- more than one, as many as they can have -- but he is still hoping their first born to be a son. “How does she know that?”

“By the way I’m carrying the baby, apparently,” she explains, waving her hands nonchalantly. She feels a pinch in her heart as she sees the frown and the disappointment on his face.

“Some old hag’s tale, surely,” he scoffs.

“We’ll see in a few months. I know you want a son. There’s nothing that I desire more than fulfill your wish. But if it is a girl, I hope you’ll love your daughter just as much as you would have loved your son.”

“Of course I will, don’t you ever worry about that,” he says with a large grin. _Even more so if she looks just like you_ , he thinks to himself.

* * *

In the room where the auction is being held, a large crowd is gathered, from all classes of society, of Sisteron and the surrounding villages. Followed closely by Élise, Arno is navigating through the crowd with difficulty in search of a place to sit, groaning as shoulders and elbows bump on his injured arm, but all chairs and seats are taken. They have to resort to standing with their backs against the wall.

“We have competition…” Arno mutters under his breath, trying to find a comfortable standing position without putting too much weight on his ankle.

Suddenly struck by a dizzy spell, Élise grabs his hand, trying to stay up on her feet as she takes several deep breaths.

“Élise, you look pale all of a sudden. We need to find you a chair…” he says, scouring the room in search of an elusive free seat.

She shakes her head. “I’m fine, don’t worry… Just a bit dizzy… And I’m a bit nervous, I suppose...” The room is very warm, and the butterflies, like a constant flutter in her stomach, are still not leaving her.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Here, rest against me. I don’t want you to faint.”

“Everyone is watching us…” she chuckles.

“Because you’re the prettiest girl in the room, and they’re all jealous you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

“The only redhead you mean?”

“No, the prettiest girl in the room. Trust me!”

“Charmer!” she laughs, feeling her anxiety ease away.

“Always!”

“Hear, hear!” the civil servant shouts over the loud murmur of the crowd, everyone going quiet. Élise straightens up, slipping away from Arno’s embrace, adrenaline flowing through her veins. _This is it, I’m ready_ , she thinks to herself.

Arno tugs at her hand, and she turns. “When the farm is up, don’t bid immediately. Take your time…” he advises. Nodding, she turns back to face the auctioneer at the other side of the room, who is explaining the rules of the auction.

First up are two houses in the city center, each reaching 2,500, and gathering very little interest from the buyers in the room. As civil servant announces the farm, the loud murmur of voices suddenly echoes around the whole room.

“Oh God, please help us..." Élise prays, her heart beating hard in her chest.

The bidding start straight at 10,000, and before they have time to exchange nervous looks, the bidding war rages on, and the price reaches their soft limit of 20,000.

“Arno…” she says, looking at him worriedly. He just nods, giving her permission to continue the bidding.

She raises her hand “25,000,” she shouts, hoping the sharp increase is going to silence the other bidders.

“28,000,” a buyer shouts from the other side of the room.

“30,000,” another voice immediately counters.

“32,000,” someone else offers.

They meet each other’s gaze, both looking defeated. “Arno, we have to buy this farm, we have to…” she pleads, but his only answer is a loud sigh. _It’s not like you to give up, my love_ , she thinks to herself.

“35,000! 38,000! 40,000!” other bidders offer, as the price escalates further, with no sign of slowing down.

 _I’m sorry, Arno, I have to. Please don’t be mad at me._ “50,000,” she shouts, bringing a clenched fist to her forehead. She shifts from one foot to the other, looking down to the floor. Behind her, Arno is rubbing his eyes with his index and thumb, shaking his head. The room is suddenly quiet, with only hushed voices floating across the room.

“50,000 going once…” the civil servant calls, looking around the room for any other bids. He lifts his arm holding the hammer. “Going twice…”

“Drop your hammer!” she mumbles, holding her breath, reaching behind her to grasp Arno’s hand.

“Sold! To the lady with red hair in the back,” the civil servant announces as he drops his hammer on his desk.

They both sigh loudly in relief as she rushes into his arms, tears running down her cheeks. Through his own tears of joy, he winces in pain from the force of her embrace, but nothing -- no pain, no fears -- can spoil this moment. They have found their safe haven, they have found their dream home, where they can build their future. How they will afford to live the coming months and years, is the least of their worry at this right instant.

She looks up to stare into his eyes, reaching with her hand to wipe the tears off his cheek with her thumb. “Welcome home,” she says softly, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him, as she feels this light fluttering in her stomach again. Suddenly, it dawns on her. Giggling, she breaks the kiss, pulling away from Arno’s arms, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it hard.

“What’s going on? Are you unwell?” Arno asks, frowning.

“The baby… I think I can feel it moving!” she says, grinning widely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Élise and Arno have a farm, ee-i-e-i-o!"
> 
> (I've been waiting since JANUARY to be able to say this!)


	12. La Concorde (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now accepting prompts!
> 
> You’re reading the story In A Family Way, and you have ideas for tiny ‘daily life’ ficlets? Feel free to submit them via the Ask box or the Submission form: arnoandelisehaveafarm.tumblr.com
> 
> I can’t promise to use them all, as they do have to fit within the overarching story, but if I do use your idea, you’ll get full credit for your contribution!

by [xXDrawingFanXx](http://xxdrawingfanxx.deviantart.com/art/In-my-old-drafts-535108238)

**November 6, 1794 (continued)**

Sitting at the desk in the study, Arno calculates the same column of numbers time and time again. _No, this can’t be_ , he thinks to himself, searching for a miscalculation. “I must have included the same amounts more than once, there’s no other explanation,” he mumbles, tearing the page from his notebook and starting anew, painstakingly copying the list of all their expenses since their departure from Paris. He kept track of every single penny they spent during their travels, and despite going over their daily allocated budget on several occasions, and despite Élise’s reckless bidding, he was certain they still held enough money to live comfortably the first few months.

Doubt erupted in his mind, earlier this afternoon, upon paying for the farm at the City Hall. He found himself emptying all his pockets in search of the elusive coins needed to make up the sum. The rest happened in a blur: signing the papers in presence of the notary, Élise’s satisfied smile when she sees her name under his on the property act, the civil servant handing them a set of keys.

Back at the Lacoste’s house, he rummaged through their trunks and boxes, convinced there was another purse with money stashed somewhere — to no avail.

“To the new inhabitants of Sisteron, to our new neighbors!” Fabian toasted during dinner, a couple of hours later. Arno tried to smile, to take part in the cheerful conversations going around the table, but his mind was occupied with the incessant calculation and recalculations of their expenses. As soon as it was politely possible for him to leave the table, he excused himself, grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine and a glass from the table, and retreated to the study.

And after yet another series of calculations with the same result, he has no other choice than to face the facts. He pours himself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle to the last drop, and drains the glass in large gulps. He pushes his chair back and gets up.

“Élise, I need to speak to you,” he calls from the doorway of the study.

Back in the kitchen, Élise is chatting with Marcera and Clara while washing the dishes. The sharpness of his tone makes her heart jump, and she drops her conversation in the middle of a sentence. “Excuse me,” she mutters, drying her hands on her apron. She can feel the eyes of the entire Lacoste family upon her as she walks towards the study.

“What’s all this?” she asks, looking at the open notebook with rows of numbers, the property act, and several other papers scattered on the desk, along with his empty coins purse, save for a few pennies.

“That’s us being in deep trouble,” he retorts, closing the door behind her.

She notices the deep frown lines on his forehead and his tired features, feeling a pinch in the pit of her stomach.

“Élise,” he begins gravely. “I’m overjoyed we bought this farm, but…”

“I know, I bid too much money, without asking you…” she interrupts, attempting a smile to lighten up the mood.

“Thank you for admitting it yourself,” he sneers.

She purses her lips and squints her eyes, piqued by his harshness. “What was I supposed to do? Let our dream slip away? We had one chance at starting our new life, we had one chance at being a family. I couldn’t let it get past us. And you’ve been so withdrawn and passive the past few days, I had to make the decision for both of us,” she snaps, defensively crossing her arms over her chest.

“It wasn’t called a _hard limit_ for nothing! And thanks to you, we’re flat broke now!” he shouts, slamming his hand on the top of the desk, startling her.

She slowly uncrosses her arms, staring into his hard, fuming gaze. “It can’t be that bad… can it?” she says in a low voice, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation.

“See for yourself, if you don’t believe me,” he says, pushing his open notebook towards her.

She sits at the desk, examining the columns with numbers, running the same calculations he ran himself several times. And she had to recognize he was absolutely right: they were broke. And it was undoubtedly her fault. “What do we do now? How can we fix this?”

“Considering it’s your fault, I was hoping you would be the one coming up with solutions," he gibes, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“I... I need a moment to think…” she stutters, his insistence making her nervous.

“There isn’t any time, unfortunately,” he replies sharply.

She taps her fist to her forehead. _Think, Élise, think!_ “The estate, I just have to sell it. The sale might not bring the 20,000 we need, but it’s a start, right?”

He shakes his head, groaning in frustration. “Élise, listen to me: we need money _now_. We can’t even buy a loaf of bread and a couple of dry sausages. We can’t afford to wait patiently until someone shows interest in an estate that’s falling into a pile a rubble. By your negligence, may I remind you?"

She looks down in shame, his last comment hitting her like an arrow through the heart. _Did you really need to remind me?_ she thinks to herself. There is only one other solution she can think of. She wished she would never have to take this decision, but it's their only chance to survive the cold winter months, and feed their baby come spring. _Oh mother, please forgive me._ "Then I’ll sell my mother’s jewelry," she says with a loud sigh.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, a baffled look on his face.

“Before we left the lodge for good, Freddie gave me a box containing all of my mother’s jewelry. I hid the box under a seat of the carriage,” she explains. “There are more diamonds and precious stones in this box than on the king’s crown!" she adds with a chuckle.

He pauses to consider her suggestion, weighing up the pros and cons: selling her mother’s jewelry wouldn’t have been his first option, but it was currently their _only_ option. And while imperfect, this option would secure their financial situation for the short term. On the other hand, he realizes the emotional value and the sacrifice these possessions represent. “They will only bring a fraction of what they are really worth, I’m afraid.”

“Which is perhaps far from what we’re missing, but it should be enough for us to eat for the next few months, and even buy half a dozen of goats at the market. What use is all that jewelry anyway? I can’t wear diamonds. Not here. Not anywhere.”

“They are your mother’s…” he reasons, reaching to cup her chin and caress her cheek with his thumb.    
“And she’s not here to stop me, is she?” she asks with a faint smile. ‘She’d understand. I know she would. And I don’t need to stare at her diamond ring to remember her. She’s in my heart, and that’s what counts…”

He returns her smile. _How can I even stay mad at you?_ “Fine, we’ll try to sell your mother’s jewelry tomorrow.”

She looks down at her left hand. “We could also sell our wedding rings, while we’re at it. Are these sapphires and diamonds?”

“After all the trouble I went through to buy them?” he scoffs. “Can we at least hold on to them for a full year of marriage?”

“Now that I think of it, you never told me the story!” she says with a wide smile, narrowing her eyes with curiosity.

He chuckles nervously. “Right, I haven’t. Errrrr... To summarize: The day before the wedding, as I was leaving to deliver the signed contract at the City Hall, Madeleine made me realize I completely forgot to buy us rings.”

She covers her mouth with both hands in disbelief. “Nooooo!”

“It was 4 o’clock, the shops were closing, and I found _one_ jewelry shop who would sell me these rings on the same day. Only, they were far too expensive.”

“And you puppy-eyed him until he broke down and lowered his price?” she mocks.

“You know me too well, I see! I still spent too much for these rings. I couldn’t disappoint you. I couldn’t show up without rings, you would have killed me! Can you imagine? _‘May I have the rings, Monsieur?’ ‘Actually, I don’t have the rings, I forgot to buy them!’’_ ”

They both burst out in laughter, picturing themselves at the City Hall with no wedding rings.

“I would have been very mad,” she says, shaking her head. “But probably not as mad as you are with me right now…” she adds sheepishly.

“I’m not mad at you…” he sighs. “Yes, I am mad at you. For adding to my worries, as if I didn’t have enough on my mind already. We can’t be this reckless anymore.”

She gets up from her chair, coming to stand in front of him, her hands running over his thighs, staring into his eyes, wishing she could take the weariness away. “We’ll pull through. We’re fighters. We’ll find more solutions. Tomorrow morning, I’ll write a letter to Freddie, he ought to know we made it safely to the South of France. And I’ll ask him to arrange for the villa and the estate to be sold. He can keep the villa’s money, as I promised him, and he can send me the estate’s.”

“And I’ll try to sell the carriage, even if it just brings a hundred coins. We don’t need it, I saw a couple of carts inside one of the outbuildings.”

“Arno, I’m sorry… I…”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Come here…” Coiling his arm around the small of her back, he pulls her closer. “What does it feel like when the baby moves?” he asks, looking down at her belly.

“Like a flutter, like bubbles… it comes and goes…” she explains, cupping her belly with both hands. “It’s the most amazing feeling, it makes it all so real…”

“Can’t wait to feel the baby kick!”

“I bet!”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before their lips collide, opening their mouths wide to deepen the kiss, their tongues rolling and exploring, in desperate need of reassurance, comfort, and relief. Trembling, gasping for air, they break the kiss, resting their foreheads together.

“We bought a farm!” he chuckles, still not quite believing they won the auction.

“Yes, we did!”

“We’ll have to give it a name… any ideas?”

She nods. “I have a perfect name: La Concorde.”

He frowns, not understanding. “Which means…?”

“Arno Victor Dorian, did you even pay attention during our Latin lessons?” she teases.

“Sadly, no. Too distracted by the redhead sitting next to me,” he retorts with a cheeky smile.

“Con-cordia — union of hearts. “

“Your heart and mine, united. Yes, it is a perfect name,” he says as he pulls her close again for a kiss.

* * *

**December 3, 1794**

Immediately after the auction, aided by Marcera and Clara, Élise tackled the thorough cleaning of the house. It took the three women several days to remove the thick layer of dust and dirt that had accumulated over the years — on the walls, on the furniture, or on the floors — not to mention the extra layer of dust that had settled since the death of the previous owner. They worked relentlessly, from early in the morning until late in the evening, occasionally aided by Marcera’s daughters-in-law. The heavier work, such as carrying and stapling firewood for the winter, moving furniture around, or lifting the heavier boxes and trunks to the upper floor, has been the result of the concerted effort of the Lacoste men, under Arno’s watchful supervision.

The three weeks that followed were focused on settling into a domestic routine and Arno’s recovery, Élise constantly scolding him for exerting himself — such as walking too long distances or trying to use his injured arm to carry something heavy, or even just trying to help her around the house. “I don’t need your help, Arno. You can’t help me, anyway. Go rest some more, please,” she would tell him. And with a sigh, he would go take a nap, or go back to writing in his notebook, be it a letter to his father, documenting their new life in a journal entry, or endlessly recalculating their budget.

Despite being less frequent as time passes, the nightmares are still present, whether during his daytime naps or at night. He never talks about the nightmares upon waking up, and Élise never brings them up into their conversations. _God only knows what_ I _have been dreaming about myself_ , she wonders.

And now, five weeks since the attack, he can walk without pain, and wears the sling supporting his arm mostly at night. His demeanor shows a newly found confidence as he regains his strength, both physically and mentally. His features have softened, the frown lines on his forehead have relaxed. His face lights up whenever Élise mentions feeling the baby move, and he couldn’t be more adoring of her growing belly.

The sale of her mother’s jewelry was disappointing, but it brought a sufficient amount of money to ensure they could eat the coming winter, and buy goats and hens as soon as Arno has carried out the repairs to the farm’s outbuildings and enclosures. Each day is a struggle to make ends meet. They are refusing all financial help from the Lacoste family — mostly out of pride. “We got ourselves into this situation, we need to get ourselves out of it on our own,” they argue.

Meanwhile, Élise is thriving in her new environment. She enjoys the serenity of the mountains, the tranquility of the river, and the peacefulness of the village. She welcomes Clara or Marcera almost every day, and together they work on further improving her cooking skills, and teaching her new words in the local language. She visits the market on her own, attempting to speak the few words she knows in their language, trying to forge links with the traders in the hope of doing business with them later.

Today, she comes back from the market and from visiting the midwife for a routine check, carrying a basket full of meat and vegetables to make a stew that will fill their stomachs with food and warmth that evening. She is also bringing back half a dozen apples to bake a pie. The cooking lessons with Clara and Marcera have uncovered her certain talent in baking sweets and desserts, much to her delight.

She closes the front door carefully, trying not to wake up Arno napping in the sitting room. She hangs her coat on the hook next to the door frame, and takes off her boots. Barefoot, she walks across the kitchen to empty her basket on the counter. She somehow loved the feeling of the hardwood floor beneath her feet whenever she was home. _Home_ , she thinks to herself, the warmth of the house welcoming her after her long walk in the cold December air.

Having gathered mixing bowls, a knife, and all the ingredients she needs for her pie, she gets busy at the table, peeling and cutting the apples while humming a melody in a low, soft voice.

In the sitting room, Arno wakes up to the sound of her voice. Rubbing his eyes, he looks at her standing at the kitchen table with her back facing him, absorbed in her task, working the fat and the egg in the flour to make the dough.

She is wearing a light pink robe-chemise, her hair is tied with a large red ribbon, loose curls falling over her ears. The dress is gathered at the waist by a sash, and its flowing fabric is skimming over her hips and her belly.

His eyes roam over her, following her curves. _How can she look more beautiful every day?_ he asks himself. His mind still foggy from sleep, he groggily walks towards her, sliding his hands over her hips to cup her belly as he comes to stand behind her. His lips find the crook of her neck and her shoulder, his warm breath on her skin causing her a sudden shiver.

“What are you making?” he asks, his lips returning to her neck and lazily moving to her ear.

She chuckles, his beard tickling her neck and jawline. “I’m making an apple pie. Marcera gave me a few apples when I stopped by on my way back from the market. Don’t worry, I didn’t spend too much today,” she says as she continues to knead the dough in the mixing bowl.

“Hmmmm… apple pie… that sounds delicious… like you...” he murmurs in her ear, his warm tongue teasing her earlobe and his hands gliding back to her hips.

She closes her eyes, reveling in his touch. “I also visited the midwife today. The baby and I are doing fine, according to her I’m about halfway through. She did comment on something…” she says casually.

He stops in his tracks, suddenly worried something might be wrong with her or the baby. “What about?”

“She said I looked a bit tired, and rather… tense. That I should relax more. That I should be… errrr… kept satisfied,” she smirks, grabbing a handful of flour and spreading it on the table to roll out the dough.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. “Wait, did she insinuate that I’m not...?” he scoffs, struggling to hide his annoyance. “You’ve been all over me since we left Paris! Better yet, you’ve been all over me, every single night, since we moved in! That’s not enough? Do you realize how difficult it is to keep up with your raging desires with only one good arm?”

She tries to repress a laughter, finding his indignation rather amusing. _Your male ego has been bruised, my love?_ she thinks to herself. “I swear, I’m not inventing it! And please accept my most insincere apologies for wanting to give you pleasure… and take some for myself while I’m at it!” she quips with a raised eyebrow.

He sighs while shaking his head, trying to conjure a witty retort, in vain. “I’ll admit, there were moments of drought the past months. But I’ve never heard you complain about it! Are you complaining about it now?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

“NO!” she laughs. “I just thought it was a rather unusual advice! I honestly thought we were not supposed to have sex anymore when we’re pregnant… And I’m not complaining, you know I’ll always find a way to get what I want...” she teases, flashing a mischievous smile before turning back to face the table, returning her attention to her dough.

“That being said, I’m happy to oblige…” he says, his hands caressing her bum and her hips, and pressing his lips against the nape of her neck.

“Of course you are…” she says before grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it over her shoulder, right in his face.

“HEY!’ he shouts, coughing and spitting, and wiping the flour from his eyes, and his face. “You are going to pay for this!” he groans, grabbing a handful of flour from the bag and throwing it at her face.

Ducking just in time, she receives most of the flour on her head. “HEY!” she protests while giggling, abruptly stopping and gasping as she feels his firm hands on her shoulders, briskly pulling her into him. His hands travel along the neckline of her dress, one hand plunging into it, the other pulling on the drawstring to loosen it, causing the top of her dress to fall off her shoulders. After loosening the ties of her stay and letting it hang open, he reaches to grab her well-rounded breasts and she arches her back towards him, indulging in her exposure and the roughness of his callused hands on her skin. Soft gasping moans escape her throat as he squeezes her fleshy mounds and teases her hardened nipples by tracing circles around them with his finger. She glances over her shoulder, tilting her head to meet his gaze. His eyes are on fire, loaded with desire. “You didn’t have to invent an excuse. I would have fucked you right here, right now. You are insanely sexy when you’re standing in the kitchen,” he murmurs in a husky voice, his lips and his tongue running along the curve of her neck, his hands closing over her breasts. “Or when you’re on your knees, scrubbing the floor, with that perfectly plump arse of yours up in the air — that’s pure torture.”

She whimpers in protest as he lets go of her breasts, his hands travelling over her sides and her waist, down to her butt cheeks, giving them a hard squeeze before moving to her hips. With a low, lamenting moan, she undulates her hips against his hands, arousal pooling between her legs.

“And that dress on you, it’s exquisite… the way it hugs your hips… those hips which are getting rounder, and rounder... ” he purrs, his words punctuated with kisses and nips at her earlobe. He claws at the skirt of her dress, pulling it up slowly, denuding her legs and her backside. “I know you hate them, but do you know what I love about dresses? Direct access…”

Without warning, he pushes her flat on the table, placing a hand between her shoulder blades to hold her down. "Can you feel that? That's how much I want you..." he growls, grinding his throbbing erection between her cheeks.

She writhes under him, feeling his hard cock against her delicate flesh through the coarse fabric of his breeches. “My dirty-talking, dominating Arno is back, you must be feeling better! Or is it your male pride that’s being trampled, and you want to set the record straight?” she mocks, whimpering and gasping, her growing belly flattened on the table and compressing her lungs, adding to her discomfort.

He leans over her, breathing heavily in her ear. "I'll make sure the whole village hears you scream..." he warns.

She moans in anticipation, followed by a chuckle. “I have no doubt! But I’m afraid you can’t bend me over anymore, my belly is too big!”

He groans in frustration, releasing her from his hold, smacking her arse before flipping her around to face him. “Get on the table!” he orders, his dark eyes smoldering.

She gives him an equally lewd look before sitting on the table, breasts exposed, skirts lifted, and legs parted. With a grunt, he takes her head between his hands, pressing his lips on hers and taking her mouth captive, his tongue dueling and tangling with hers, while she reaches to undo his belt and unbutton his breeches.

She snatches her mouth away from his to take a gulp of air. “Is it me or your breeches are a tighter fit than usual?” she asks, tugging at the waistband.

“Pfff! Are you saying I gained weight?”

With a flirtatious smirk, she pulls his shirt out of his breeches and over his head, her fingers swift and sure. She runs her hands longingly over his stomach and up to his chest, her fingers lingering a moment on the bump on his collarbone, where the bone has mend, and moving down over his sides, feeling the goosebumps rising on his skin under her touch. Her hands settle on his waist, where she pinches his skin. “There’s even love handles for me to grab onto…” she purrs, biting her lip, her eyes admiring his half-naked body, and her hands continuing their course, sliding inside his breeches to grab his round buns.

“That’s not true! And it’s your fault, it’s your cooking! Too many desserts!” he teases, lifting her chin with his thumb and index, his lips dangerously close to hers. She feels his warm breath on her lips.

“No, it’s not!” she retorts indignantly. “And that beard you’re growing, is it the fault of my desserts too?”

He chuckles. “No, that’s just me being too lazy to shave the past weeks, and not wanting to pay for the barber to do it.”

She smiles tenderly, looking into his eyes. “You should keep it, it suits you.”

“Does it?” he asks, blushing slightly.

“Yes, it does. Now shut up and fuck me!” she orders, closing the gap between their lips, both moaning and grunting as they kiss passionately.

He unbuttons his breeches, her hands still on his bum, pulling him closer to her.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss. With his freed cock firmly in his hand, he enters her slowly, inch by inch, letting out a low growl as he finally finds himself enclosed in her heated wetness.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day…” she moans, lifting her legs and encircling his hips, drawing him in deeper still.

“You are insatiable!” he whispers as they embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands firmly anchored on her hips, their lips locking and their bodies pressing against each other. He begins moving his hips to a steady rhythm, while gradually leaning forward and gently pushing her down on the table, never breaking the kiss.

He grips her wrists from behind his neck, dragging her hands on each side of her head and holding them there as he continues to thrust into her, his lush lips moving along her chin and her jawline, and down her neck. She whimpers and writhes, trying to move her hands to touch him, to embrace him, but he keeps her hands firmly pinned down. As his lips latch around one of her nipples, sucking and nipping, licking and biting, the hair of his beard prickling her skin, she surrenders entirely to his ministrations, letting go of all resistance and setting ablaze the fire deep in her core.

Satisfied she wouldn’t move, he lets go of her wrists to palm her other breast, pinching her nipple between his index and thumb, his hips maintaining their cadence. With a smirk on her lips, she immediately tangles her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck, her fingernails scraping his scalp, breathing heavily and moaning as his lips and his fingers on her nipples send the most delicious sensations throughout her body.

Abandoning her breasts, he moves back up, leaving wet sloppy open-mouth kisses along the way, until his lips find hers again, groaning in her mouth. He bites her lower lip, one hand cradling her jaw to hold her head still as he plunges his tongue in her mouth again, and her hands suddenly move, raking her fingernails down his back. She hitches her legs higher around his waist, letting out a loud moan at the increased friction, yet gasping and whimpering as his weight presses down on her belly. Sensing her discomfort, he rises above her, straightening his back, his hands languorously dragging over her breasts and her belly, then tugging at her hips to pull her closer to the edge of the table. Closing his eyes, he thrusts freely, her breasts bouncing with each of his deep and powerful thrusts, his cock striking that special spot in her passage again and again with relentless determination. She cries out, loud throaty cries of pleasure filling the air, answered by his grunts. She clutches his arms, her fingernails digging into his flesh, and she arches her body, throwing her head back, a strong surge of pleasure washing over her.

“That’s it, come for me,” he pants, and she comes hard, her walls clenching vigorously around his shaft, the waves of her climax rippling through her muscles, making her body jerk. He continues driving his cock into her, riding her orgasm, and finally he obtains his own release, his cock swelling and spurting inside her, filling her with warmth. Caught in the passion of their lovemaking, they didn’t notice the table wobbling hazardously with each of his thrusts. As he leans to kiss her, breathing heavily and trembling, they hear a sudden cracking noise as the table begins to collapse beneath them, the rusty iron nails keeping it together breaking, and its old tired legs buckling under their combined weight. The bag of flour tumbles over, sending flour over the entire floor of the kitchen, followed by the various mixing bowls and ingredients she had gathered for her pie.

“ARNO!” she shouts, desperately trying to catch hold of something to halt her fall.

With swift reflexes, he puts his right arm around her back to catch her, helping her up on her feet.

“Élise, are you hurt?” he asks, a worried look on his face, taking hold of her hand to keep her steady, her legs still shaking as she’s coming down from her orgasm.

“No, I’m fine,” she says with a giggle. Her expression changes to concern as she looks around them, seeing the broken table and the flour spilled across the floor. “Oh no…” she laments, bringing a hand in front of her mouth to stifle a cry.

“I’ll fix it tomorrow, with Francis’ help… and I’ll help you clean up, don’t worry my love,” he reassures, while buttoning his breeches. _Hum, they are indeed a tighter fit than usual_ , he thinks to himself with a frown.

“But my pie…” she sobs, letting herself fall to her knees, trying to salvage the pieces of fruit scattered on the floor, sniffling and wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

He kneels behind her, his arms encircling her shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly in her ear. “Don’t cry over spilled milk… or over spilled flour, in this case.”

With a whine and a sigh, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder, the skin of his bare chest still glistening with sweat. His hands move down to stroke her belly. “What was that?” he suddenly asks, startled.

“What was what?”

He looks at her with the largest of grins. “Just now… Did the baby kick?”

“Yes, I felt a kick, why?” she asks, puzzled.

“I felt it, I felt the baby move… Yes, I felt it… Hello, son, can you hear me in there...” he says, his voice cracking from the overwhelming joy and emotion.

“ _Daughter_ ,” she corrects, smiling tenderly at him. He is radiant, his gaze fixed on her belly, his eyes filled with love for their unborn child.

“We’ll have to talk about names!” he says, his hands still on her belly, hoping to feel another kick.

She chuckles. “Oh I have a name for my daughter already, don’t you worry!”

“Shouldn’t we be deciding together?”

She puts her hands over his. “Let’s make a deal: if it’s a boy, you pick the name. If it’s a girl, I get to pick the name.”

“I can think of a few names…” he says with a smile, lost in his thoughts. _Oh yes, I have a name for my son,_ he thinks to himself.

* * *

**January 1st, 1795**

Winter has set in over the mountains. On a rare cloudy day, a light snow is falling, leaving a thin white blanket on the ground. Élise is curled up on the sofa, a warm woolen blanket tightly wrapped around her body. The blanket smells of Paris, of the Café-Théâtre, of Arno’s room, of what they left behind. A feeling of nostalgia settles in the pit of her stomach as she reads once more the letter she received from Freddie the day before.

> _My dearest Élise,_
> 
> _I am deeply relieved to hear you are safe and sound in the South of France. We were anxiously waiting for a word from you, and as the days and weeks passed, we couldn’t help but worry that something had happened to you or Arno._
> 
> _You can count on me, I will ensure the estate and the villa are sold as soon as possible, and I will send you the money of both sales. I can hear you groan from here: yes, of both sales. It’s extremely generous of you to offer us money to find a new home, but it’s not necessary. I sold my property in England, and I have enough money aside to buy a nice little villa for myself, Madeleine, Jacques, and Hélène. The young chap finally asked her to marry him, shortly after you left! Madeleine can’t wait to help her out with the children, as you can imagine. I can never thank you enough for persuading me to settle back in France, and for bringing Madeleine into my life. I do not know how much time I have left to walk on this Earth, but I am certain of one thing: I am content, for the first time in too many years._
> 
> _On the other hand, I’m saddened you had to resort to sell your mother’s jewelry to cover up for your recklessness. Will you ever learn to think first, then act? You’re a grown woman, Élise, soon you’ll be a mother too. You can’t continue on like that, especially now that I’m too far away to keep an eye on you!_
> 
> _How I miss you, child. I wish you didn’t have to leave so far away. But I understand. I do._
> 
> _Take care, of yourself, your baby, and Arno._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Freddie W._

The front door opens, cold air rushing inside the house. Arno swiftly closes the door behind him, shaking the snow and mud from his boots on the rug, and blowing on his fingers to get warmth into them. Since having recovered from his collarbone injury, he has been working on patching up the outbuildings and preparing the enclosures, with Francis lending a helping hand from time to time. His progress has been slow, but steady, tackling the lightest renovations first, and progressing to the heavier work, careful not to overload his left arm. He still hadn’t recovered all his strength and range of movement, but he was hopeful a few weeks of targeted training could bring improvements.

The past two weeks, he has been working on his own in one of the barns, not allowing anyone near it. “It’s a surprise, for Élise,” he would explain to anyone who would insist.

‘Élise? Put your coat on, I want to show you something!” he calls from the entrance, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor.

“It’s snowing, and it’s cold outside…” she whines, tugging the edges of the blanket closed under her chin.

“But I want to show you something…” he insists, a note of disappointment in his voice.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it has to be today…”

She groans in frustration. “Fine, I’m putting my coat on…” She reluctantly leaves her blanket cocoon, arms crossed over her chest for warmth, stepping into her warm boots and swinging her coat over her shoulders.

He holds a rag in his hands to blindfold her. “It’s a surprise!”

“Right…” she grumbles, rolling her eyes.

She can feel the bitter January cold in her bones, and the snowflakes brushing her skin. Holding her hand firmly, he leads her towards one of the barns. His stomach is churning with nervousness, a distant memory from their childhood resurfacing in his mind, of a summer day when he offered Élise a bunch of flowers plucked from the garden, the first expression of his budding love for her. “What am I supposed to do with these?” she said at the time, gazing at him and scrunching her nose. _Élise, my love, I only ever want to please you_ , he thinks to himself with a smile.

“This surprise better be worth it, I’m freezing!” she moans through chattering teeth, her voice bringing his thoughts back to the present.

He opens the door of the barn, tugging her hand for her to follow him to the middle of the floor.

“You asked for one of the barns to be turned into a training room. Your wish is my command, my love,” he announces as he carefully removes the blindfold.

Her eyes are wide and her mouth hangs open as she gazes around, letting out a cry of joy.“Is this what you’ve been working on in secret?”

He nods, relieved by her reaction. “I used ropes, timber and all sorts of materials I found around the farm. It didn’t cost a thing. Do you like it?”

On one side, there are targets for shooting practice, and bags filled with straw for sword practice hanging from a large supporting beam. On the other, bags filled with sand for hand to hand combat practice are hanging in the same manner, along with multiple iron bars & knotted ropes for strength training. All their weapons are neatly arranged on the wall — swords, rifles, and pistols. In a corner, there is even a table with chairs, and a map of the area nailed to the wall behind.  

“It’s perfect!” she murmurs with a large grin, reaching her arms around his neck to hold him tightly.

“I wanted to give this room to you as a present. Happy New Year!” he whispers in her ear, his arms tightly wrapped around her back.

She pulls away slightly to meet his gaze. “Happy New Year! But I don’t have anything for you…” she pouts.

“You are giving me the best present ever this year…” he says, moving his hands to each side her belly, caressing it while looking at her with adoring eyes.

“First lesson of your training: don’t let your guard down…” Without warning, she pulls him close for a kiss, causing him to stumble.

“I surrender, I surrender…” he chuckles, raising his hands in defeat...

“You certainly didn’t bring me here just to give me a tour. Are you ready for your first training? You must be rusty after all this time!” she teases.

He takes a sword from the wall and twirls it, flexing his arm and circling his wrist as he walks towards the center of the floor, where he takes his stance. He moves his left arm, testing his shoulder, relieved to not feel any pain.

"You're leaning forward too much, your center of gravity is shifted. Shoulders back..." she tells him as she circles around and corrects his posture. Nodding in satisfaction, she quickly picks up her own sword from the wall. She inspects the blade from all angles, grinning widely, _Hello, old friend, I’ve missed you!_ she thinks to herself.

"Élise, no!" he shouts, waving his hand, eyes wide open.

"Are you scared of fighting a pregnant woman?" she snickers, her lips curled in a playful smirk.

"Put the sword back!”

"Don’t be such a baby! Come on, just a little bit, it's been so long!" she pleads, stamping her foot on the ground.

"Élise, no, put the sword back on the wall," he commands.

Ignoring his orders, she gets into position and attacks immediately. He barely has time to avoid her blade by spinning away.

"You are very rusty, Monsieur Dorian," she mocks, her focused gazed locked on his, sword held high in front of her.

"You're going to get hurt!”

"Are you sure? By the way it looks from here, I have the upper hand." She attacks again, but this time, he easily parries.

"You are impossible, you know that?" he groans, a smile appearing on his lips. He had to admit, it felt good to hold his sword again — but seeing Élise’s wide smile as she holds her own sword finished melting his heart.

"And you'll never control me!" she banters, getting into position.

They fight for the next 10 minutes, with no intention of causing any pain or injury, simply to whip their rusty muscles and reflexes back into shape: swords clashing, spinning and shuffling, attacking and countering, pretending that nothing has changed, that they are still as sharp as they ever were a few months back, before their lives took an unexpected turn when they discovered she was pregnant. Soon enough, they are gasping to catch their breaths, the adrenaline making them giggle.

"My back, it's killing me, stop!" she complains as she brings her hand to her back in a weak attempt to alleviate the pain after making a wrong move.

"When was the last time we fought like that?" he asks, taking her sword from her hand to hang it back on the wall next to his.

"I have no idea. We were 10, maybe? Things never change, I'm still the best!" she says, pulling her tongue.

He can’t help but smile, smitten to the core by her rosy cheeks and her disheveled hair, and the sound of her laughter. "You can teach me all your secrets tomorrow for my first real lesson!" he says, sliding his arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

* * *

Later that evening, snow is still falling and the wind has picked up, cold air seeping through the windows. They are sitting on sheepskins laid on the floor in front of the fireplace, Arno’s back resting against the sofa, Élise sitting between his legs, leaning her head on his chest. Next to him, an empty bottle of wine and an open book. Under the cover of warm blankets, their four hands are resting on her belly, each kick from the baby making Arno giggle. Hundreds of miles from the noise and frenzy of Paris, they savor the silence and the tranquility of their new home, lazy evenings of cuddling in front of the warm fireplace rapidly becoming their favorite moment of the day.

“Thank you, for the training room, it was a nice present. You did an excellent job,” she says, breaking the silence.

“Anything to make you happy,” he says, kissing the top of her head, his lips moving to her ear and to her cheek. He notices her lower lip quivering. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, a worried look on his face. Her only answer is a shrug and a sniffle, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Élise, talk to me, what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Last summer, I never thought I’d see the New Year,” she sobs. “I never thought, five or so months later, that I’d be pregnant, married, living on a farm in the South of France, and practically penniless.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault…” he apologizes, shaking his head and hugging her tightly against him.

“No, it’s not!” she interrupts. “That’s where you’re wrong, I’m not crying because I’m sad… I’m crying because I’m _happy_! To be alive, to be carrying our love child, to be able to breathe for the first time in so many years, to be freed from this knot in my stomach, from this weight on my shoulders… I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt this happy. Not even as a child, from what I recall.” She turns her head to the side to look up to him, bringing a hand to his face to caress it, his brown eyes fierce and tender at the same time. “That spark in your eyes, it’s back,” she smiles through her tears. “My dear, beloved Arno, the fearless protector and defender, the devoted husband and father, is back. And that makes me incredibly happy. I don’t care if we’re broke, I don’t care if we never live in a house like the ones we grew up in. If _this life_ brings me happiness, then this hardship is totally worth it.”

“I don’t know what to say…” he sighs.

“Please say you’re happy too?”

“Yes, of course I’m happy, this is my dream coming true. And to finally see youhappy… to _hear_ you say you are happy… you have no idea what this means to me,” he says, breaking into a large grin. “I hadn’t quite expected the penniless part though…” he adds with a chuckle.

She bites her lower lip, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry, _this_ is my fault…”

He rests his head against hers, rocking her gently as he holds her against him. “We’ll have to work hard to feed this new little mouth, but we’ll make it. The repairs of the outbuildings and the enclosures are almost complete, I believe we can start looking into buying goats very soon.”

“You did an amazing work on the farm, it has to be said. I know it’s been difficult for you to make all those repairs with no money, I’m so proud of you. And now, it’s time to spend some money to make money…”

He chuckles. “Yes, that’s how it goes.”

Smiling, she stares into his loving gaze. “Happy New Year, Arno. May 1795 bring us peace, and happiness, and a healthy baby, and goats!”

“Happy New Year, my love,” he says before capturing her lips for a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on dates: I am very well aware that the calendar at the time was the French Republican Calendar. But for the sake of this AU, and to be consistent with the calendar used in the game, I am using the Gregorian calendar as we know it.


	13. Baby Boom

** **

[Papa's Sweet Pea](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/art/Papa-s-Sweet-Pea-565161409)  by [ForeverFallen16](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/)

**February 26, 1795**

Élise's eyes flutter as she rouses from a deep sleep. The first sun rays are shining through the window shutters, announcing a crisp winter day. Spring was definitely in the air, but early mornings in the mountains are still chilly at this time of the year. Closing her eyes again, she carefully rolls from one side to the other, whimpering in pain from her achy back and ribs. She extends her arm, expecting to find Arno’s warmth, but all she finds are cold empty sheets. “Is it that late already?” she groans. Today was one of those days she felt more tired upon waking up than when she went to bed the night before, this feeling being more and more frequent as the weeks pass and April approaches.

After washing up and getting dressed, she goes to the kitchen, where she finds bread crumbs scattered all over the counter and the floor, and dirty dishes piled up in a corner. “Why do I always have to clean up after you?” she sighs, rolling her eyes. She bends forward to pick up a spoon from the floor, but she stops halfway, her aching back protesting the movement. “Later. I’ll deal with this later.”

While her tea is brewing, she prepares her own breakfast and Arno’s lunch, mostly consisting of whatever she can find in their rather empty pantry. Acquiring the five goats and six hens had been one thing, but ensuring all the animals were well fed and comfortable -- including the two horses that took them on their journey to the South of France -- was another. Both Arno and Élise were eating their fill, but their meagre income from selling a few pints of goat milk to the local cheesemaker and exchanging a couple of eggs for a loaf of bread at the bakery, was barely covering their daily expenses. Any coin that was left was meticulously saved for emergencies, and for after the baby is born.

“Auw!” she yelps, feeling a hard kick. “And good morning to you too, mademoiselle,” she says with a smile, stroking her belly. “May I ask you to _not_ kick me in the ribs today, for a change? And why do I get the feeling you’ll never listen to your mother?” she adds, shaking her head.

After gulping down the last drops of her cup of tea, she wraps his lunch in a clean dishcloth, gets dressed in warm clothes, and takes off to meet Arno in the barn.

“Good morning, my love! You were up early!” she greets him as she opens the door. She finds him standing by one of the pens, looking in awe at the animals inside.

“I think it’s you who is up late!” he teases. “Look, we have new family members!”

She approaches the pen, a large grin appearing on her face as she sees the two baby goats standing by their mother. “Awwwwww… Aren’t they the cutest little things!”

He puts his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close “And soon it will be our turn!” he says, kissing the top of her head.

“Don’t remind me!” She laughs, but she feels a knot forming in the pit of her stomach at the thought of giving birth. She had shared her fears with the midwife during her last visit, and with Marcera the last time she stopped by for a cup of tea and a chat, and both dismissed her apprehensions. “Women have been giving birth for as long as the world exists!” they said. _And women have been dying in childbirth for as long as the world exists_ , she thinks to herself. She couldn't shake the feeling, like a premonition of impending danger. “Did mommy Muscade do it all on her own?” she asks casually, trying to put the feeling aside.

“Yes, the kids were already born when I got here this morning. Good girl!” he says, patting the goat’s side.

“That means you’re next, Cannelle!” she says, extending her arm in the adjacent pen to pet the other pregnant doe. “Arno, here…” She reaches inside her pocket, pulling out the dishcloth containing the lunch she prepared for him.

He takes the package from her hands and quickly puts it in his own pocket. “Thank you!” he smiles, before pressing his lips on hers for a tender kiss. He appreciated her attentions. She began the habit of preparing his lunch when he was worked all day repairing the farm outbuildings, as he didn’t want to waste any minute of daylight during the short winter days. With spring approaching, the days are getting considerably longer, but they seemed to have settled in a routine. And whenever possible, she would take her own lunch with her and join him, whether it was outside by the horse’s pasture, or in the barn. “When are you going in town?” he asks, returning his attention to the kids, while he gets the pail and stanchion ready to milk the other goats.

“In an hour or so. We need bread. And meat. And whatever I can buy with whatever money we’ll make today. Have the milk ready outside the barn, and I’ll pick it up on my way.”

“Isn’t it getting a bit heavy for you to carry?” he frowns, a concerned look on his face.

“As long as I can walk, I will continue working!” she says, dismissing his concerns.

“But you should take it easy, I know your back is hurting,” he insists.

“Yes, my back and my ribs are hurting, my damn old injuries are resurfacing. However, you know a pregnant woman in pain begging for money attracts more pity than a strong, healthy, and handsome man,” she retorts with a warm smile.

He shakes his head, returning her smile. He couldn’t fight her logic, knowing she was right. “Fine, fine. I’ll meet you later this afternoon in the training room. I love you!” he adds, blowing her a kiss.

“I love you too!” she says, blowing a kiss back as she exits the barn to go collect the day’s fresh eggs before returning inside the house.

* * *

**April 10, 1795**

“Hello, handsome,” she greets Arno as he walks through the front door after his day working on the farm. Sitting at the table, her feet resting on a chair, Élise is reading a book Clara brought her earlier that week, a plate containing thin slices of heavy rye bread and dry sausage balancing on her belly. She is hungry, and she needs a break from working around the house, which is proving to be difficult with her advanced pregnancy. “Your boots, please,” she says before he had the chance to greet her back, while not lifting her eyes from her book.

With a sigh and rolling his eyes, he takes off his muddy boots and drops them by the door. “Hello, my love,” he says as he comes to stand next to her, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

She finally lifts her eyes from her book to look up at Arno. “What’s that in your hands?” she asks, scrunching her nose. She takes the plate that was balancing on her belly and puts it on the table.

“Flowers I plucked in the mountain, because I know today is a special day,” he replies, a slight blush on his cheeks. _Why do you always make it so difficult for me when I try to be romantic?_ he thinks to himself.

“Is it now?” she smirks, raising an eyebrow as she closes her book and lays it on the table, all ears and ready to listen to him.

He sighs deeply, trying to keep his composure. “Yes, it is. Happy twenty-seventh birthday, Élise,” he says, handing her the flowers with a bashful smile.

She flinches a little; she hadn’t realized today was her birthday, and for a short instant, she feels her chest tighten. _I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be alive_ , she thinks to herself, placing a hand on her belly. _But I’m here, and there’s a baby in my womb, and it’s all for a reason. Breathe, Élise. Breathe._ Taking a deep breath, she forces a smile and a chuckle, taking the golden yellow orbs from his hands and smelling them. “You remembered.”

He leans forward to kiss her lips softly. “I know we never celebrated it, you were never home in Versailles in April anyway. But it doesn’t mean I ever forgot about your birthday.”

 _Oh Arno, my love._ Her smile widens. “You’re such a sweetheart, thank you!” He helps her to her feet, and she whimpers and brings a hand to her sore back. Suddenly, there is a soft meow coming from his pocket. “What was that?” she asks, frowning.

“Oh, _that_ is a little lost kitten I found in the barn today…” he says sheepishly, as he gently pulls the kitten out of his pocket.

She immediately picks the meowing grey tabby kitten from his hand and cuddles it against her cheek. “Aren’t you a fluffy little face! And you’re a… little girl, I think,” she guesses, holding it in front of her. “Let’s give you some milk, you must be starving!”

Taking the kitten from her hands, he carefully deposits the baby cat on the floor, stroking its back, while Élise walks to the kitchen counter to prepare a bowl of milk, putting the flowers aside to put them in a vase later.

He crouches to the floor, his eyes fixed on the kitten as it prudently explores around the room. “I found her this morning, I waited all day to see if the mommy cat would come back, but she didn’t,” he explains. “What kind of mother do you have, kitty cat? No mother should leave a child behind, not even a mother cat!”

“Maybe she’ll come back later, or tomorrow. Let’s make her a nest in the barn with an old blanket. If the mommy cat comes back to take her away, then so be it.” She gives him the bowl of milk, and he puts it on the floor in front of the hungry kitten, who starts lapping immediately. “If not, then she can stay with us,” she continues. “Wouldn’t you like that, kitty cat? You were hungry! And what are we going to call you, huh?” She giggles as the kitten looks up for a second, its little face covered with milk. “Mademoiselle Moustache. Yes, that’s what we’re going to call you.” With a satisfied nod, she pours a bit of water in an empty milk jar and arranges the flowers in it.

He comes up behind her, his hands skimming over her waist, then over her belly.

“How are you? How was your day?” he murmurs in her ear, his hands gliding in small circles over her belly, his lips trailing down her neck.

She sighs, taking a moment to revel in his warm and soothing embrace, leaning slightly back to rest her head on his chest. “Long, and painful, and I’m exhausted. I barely made it to town and back this morning.”

“Go lay down for a little while, you need to rest!” His hands slide to her neck, and he begins to gently knead her at the base of her skull.

She tilts her head forward, giving him access to her neck and shoulders. “Thank you, but I have work to do.”

“Please, go lay down,” he insists, his fingers continuing to work her neck, while his thumbs knead the base of her neck and shoulders.

“Fine, fine…” she moans.

Taking her hand in his, he leads her to the sofa, carefully helping her lay down on her side, placing cushions under her head, and between her knees and her feet.

He crouches to pick up the curious kitten from the floor, who has been following them from the kitchen. “And Mademoiselle Moustache can keep you company.”

She chuckles, reaching to stroke the kitten’s head. “You should really bring her back to the barn, maybe her mommy is looking for her.”

“You’re right. And I’ll make her a little nest as you said, and leave some food out for her,” he says, rising to his feet.

She waves her hand. “Goodbye, Mademoiselle Moustache. See you tomorrow!”

The mommy cat never came back for the kitten she left behind. Mademoiselle Moustache has been adopted, and she has adopted the barn as her new home, bringing the animals headcount to ten goats, six hens, two horses, and a kitten.

* * *

**April 17, 1795**

“Oh, my baby, I wish you would come out!” Élise moans.

He finds her sitting on the floor with both hands on her belly in front of the fireplace when returns home from working on the farm. He crawls behind her, sitting with his back against the sofa, pulling her close so her head rests on his chest.

“Patience, patience…” he murmurs, smoothing her hair and placing soft kisses on the top of her head.

“But it’s passed mid-April! The doctor said mid-April… Auw!” She hisses in pain, feeling a rather hard kick of the baby to her ribs.

He caresses her cheek with the back of his fingers. “He said _around_ mid-April. It can be any day now.”

“My feet are killing me. My legs are killing me. My back is killing me. And _she_ keeps on kicking me in the ribs, the little monster,” she whines, writhing in his arms to find a comfortable position.

“ _He_ is not a little monster,” he corrects. “It’s just getting a bit tight in there! Plus, you wouldn’t be so tired if you wouldn’t have scrubbed the floors all morning. You need to take it easy!” He places a hand on her belly, and he can feel it tightening. She hisses again.

“THE FLOOR WAS DIRTY! And I keep on having these contractions, but the midwife says it’s just false labor. I’m so tired, I haven’t slept for days…” She breaks down sobbing, and he coils his arms tightly around her, rocking her gently. Even nine months into her pregnancy, he’s slightly taken aback every time he sees her cry.

“Shhhh… I know it must be really difficult, but you’re almost there!” he whispers in her ear. “I tell you what, let’s go upstairs, I’ll heat up some water and you can take a warm bath, and then I’ll rub your feet and your back, and you’ll sleep all through the night, I promise. How does that sound?”

Comforted by his voice and his embrace, her sobbing lessens into a weak sniffle. “I’m not even sure I’d make it upstairs, my hips are hurting badly, I was thinking of sleeping down here…”

“Let me carry you then!”

“Are you out of your mind? I’m way too heavy!” she exclaims, looking down at her body. She certainly was heavier than when they left Paris, her body plumpier and curvier than she ever was.

Without a word, he shifts his body to a crouching position, slipping his hands under her knees and around her back. “Hold on to me,” he orders. With a whimper of apprehension, she wraps her arms around his neck. In one swift move, he pushes himself to his feet and lifts her up. Standing tall and strong, he stares into her eyes with a tender smile.

“You are heavier than back in September when I carried you to my room after we got married, but I can still carry you,” he teases.

“What about dinner, I have to cook you dinner!”

“No, you don’t need to, I’ll find something to eat, don’t worry!” He carefully carries her across the floor to the staircase, climbing the steps one by one, while she quietly whimpers in the crook of his neck. Her weight is putting a painful strain on his shoulder and his collarbone, but he swallows the pain. He will not fail her. With a sigh of relief, he gently lays her on the bed, helping her roll to her side.

“I’ll be right back with some water, and I’ll help you undress,” he says, running his thumb over her cheek.

When he comes back with the water, about half an hour later, he finds her staring at the ceiling, both hands on her belly and a deep frown creasing her forehead.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he pours the water in the tub, careful not to splash any water on the floor.

“Nothing, just cramps,” she whines.

“Come on, let’s get you in the tub,” he says, taking her by the hand and pulling her legs over the edge of the bed to help her sit.

He undresses her slowly, taking his time as to not rush her and cause her any pain. She sighs in delight as she lets herself sink in the hot water, letting it soothe her aching joints and muscles.

Kneeling next to the tub, he takes the sponge and plunges it in the water.

“I can still wash myself,” she chuckles.

“Just let me,” he insists with a sigh. He delicately brushes her hair aside, gathering it over her shoulder, letting the water dripping from the sponge run on her back.

“Fine, fine. The last time you washed me, we made this little monster,” she says, closing her eyes, thinking of the night they spent together nine months earlier, her heart conflicted between the fond memories of their passionate lovemaking, what she thought to be their last night together, and memories of anguish and fear at the eve of facing her biggest enemy, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice to beat him.

“Good times,” he murmurs in her ear before kissing her shoulder.

She forces a smile. “I wouldn’t say that. I was convinced I only had hours to live. And to think that I would have taken the baby with me to my grave…And what if I die giving birth, what if I bleed to death, I don’t want to die...”

“Happy thoughts, Élise. Happy thoughts. Nothing bad is going to happen. You will not go. Not now, and not like this,” he reassures.

“You don’t know that, women die in childbirth all the time!” She snaps. “Even last week, this woman living next to the bakery, the midwife told me they couldn’t stop the bleeding, and she died, and she never got to hold her baby in her arms…” She feels a panic rise, paralyzing her, and she is struggling to breathe. “I have a bad feeling... I can see it... I can see the blood... And I can feel it…” she gasps, her eyes wide open in fear, staring blankly in front of her. She suddenly feels cold and dizzy, her body shuddering and her face taking a pale color as if all blood was instantly drained from it. Frozen in terror, she couldn’t explain it, but she could _see_ and _feel_ the blood gushing from her womb, she could _see_ and _feel_ herself fading, clear as day, happening right in front of her eyes.

He dries the sweat on her forehead with his palm and the tears streaming down her cheeks with his thumbs. “Élise, breathe, in your nose, out your mouth, slowly. Concentrate on your breathing.”

His calm and warm voice brings her back to reality. Nodding slightly, she closes her eyes, focusing on taking one breath at a time. Little by little, her cheeks regain color, her throat unclenches, and her breathing eases.

“There you go,” he says with a smile, gently stroking her back.

He continues washing her, and after helping her out of the tub, he wraps her the fluffiest towel he could find, holding her against him, and rubbing her back and her arms to dry her skin. She doesn’t say a word, lost in her thoughts, and still shaken by what seemed like a premonition.

He slips a clean chemise over her head, and then kisses her forehead. She looks up to him, a faint smile on her lips.

He returns her smile, relieved to see her feeling better. “Now lie down,” he says as he gently lays her on the bed, settling her in comfortably with as many pillows as she requests. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he begins rubbing her feet

“I haven’t seen my feet in months,” she chuckles.

“Soon you will again!”

“Hmmm this feels good, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

After helping her roll to her most comfortable side, he pulls the covers over her legs and crawls into bed behind her. As his hands slip under chemise, gliding over the roundness of her hips before reaching her lower back, his lips find the curve of her neck.

“I can’t believe you still want to touch me!” she says, eyes closed, savoring his steady hands massaging her back..

“Why is that so surprising?” he murmurs, nuzzling her hair.

“Don’t I look like an elephant? There’s nothing attractive in an elephant!” she retorts.

He laughs wholeheartedly. “No, you don’t look like an elephant, and you have no idea how attractive you are, even nine months pregnant -- _especially_ nine months pregnant,” he purrs, working little smacking kisses from her neck to her shoulder.

“No man I know would still find his wife attractive with a swollen belly, swollen legs, and swollen feet! Look at these chubby fingers!” she says, holding her spread fingers in front of her. “And my breasts have at least tripled in size...”

“I sincerely can’t see what’s wrong with that!” His hand skim over her side to palm her breast, squeezing it gently. She slaps him on the wrist in protest. “I just think you are beautiful, as always,” he adds, his hand now caressing her well-rounded belly.

She lets out a yawn. “I should really try to sleep..."

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

She turns her head to meet his gaze. “Would you?”

“I can stay with you until you fall asleep.” _That fear I see in your eyes, my love. I wish I could take it away._

He moves closer to spoon her, enveloping her with his warmth, gently lulling her to sleep. When her peaceful snoring confirms she is asleep, he quietly slips away, holding his breath as he tiptoes out of the room.

* * *

**April 18, 1795**

**3:08am**

She wakes up to a contraction that feels stronger and lasts longer than anything she experienced up until now. Whimpering, she brings a hand to her belly, feeling her womb tensing under her hand. Next to her, Arno is snoring loudly, sound asleep. She gets out of bed, following the advice of the midwife. “If you have a contraction, just get up and walk it off,” she told her during her last visit.

Each step is a struggle, the pain in her hips and in her legs are hindering her. She laboriously paces around the room, taking hold on chairs and other furniture. While walking around for a little while seem to ease the pain of false labor contractions the past few days, it didn’t seem to help at all this time.

She suddenly realises it’s not false labor anymore. “Oh God, the baby is coming,” she gasps, feeling another wave of panic rising.

She limps back into bed, shaking Arno’s shoulder vigorously to wake him up. “Arno, hold me please!”

He jolts awake, confused. “What’s going on?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

She takes a several gasping breaths, tears running freely on her cheeks. “Just hold me, I’m scared,” she sobs.

He tries to make sense of her tears and her agitation, his sleepy brain two steps behind. But he couldn't refuse to hold her and comfort her, whatever the cause of her distress. “Of course, come here,” he says groggily, opening his arms to welcome her in his embrace. As they settle comfortably, he feels her body tensing in his arms. “Élise, what’s happening?” he asks, his senses suddenly on alert and feeling very awake.

“I think.... it’s not false labor anymore…” she gasps, whimpering in discomfort.

“Oh… Oh!” He can help but smile. _The baby is coming!_

“I don’t want to do this alone…” she laments.

He tightens his embrace. “I’m here, I’m not leaving you. Well, should I go to the village and fetch the midwife for you now, or are we supposed to wait?” He felt ashamed for not knowing what he was supposed to do, what he could expect. _How long is this going to take? How long until I can hold my child in my arms?_ he wonders.

“I think we can wait a bit… I don’t know, I can’t remember what she said...” She breaks down again, gasping between sobs.

“Shhhhhhh, calm down, breathe…” he murmurs, his hand stroking her belly.

She couldn’t shake this feeling of impending doom, the same she felt nine months earlier when she thought she was running to her death, convinced only a miracle could save her. “I’d rather fight Germain all over again than give birth… I’m so scared… I can’t help it, I have a bad feeling about this...”

“You can do this, you’re the strongest woman I know!”

“I don’t feel so strong right now!” she moans.

“You have it in you. Trust me.” He smooths her hair, trying to appease her fears.

Bit by bit, her breathing returns to a normal and steady pace, the tension in her body relaxes, and her sobbing ceased.

“I think she said to go fetch her when the water breaks,” she says with a faint smile, after coming to her senses.

“Well, has it?”

“No. I don't think so."

“Then we wait. Hold my hand, breathe...”

She grabs his hand, squeezing it hard. They shift their bodies to find a comfortable position. Nuzzling her hair again, he closes his eyes, hoping to sleep a few more hours before the morning comes. _Today is going to be a long day, but it’s going to be a great day_ , he thinks to himself before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

**8:25am**

Arno fetched Marcera and Clara a half-hour earlier, at Élise’s request. It pained him to have to leave her behind, his heart torn between his family and his responsibilities. He could see the fear in her eyes when he kissed her goodbye as he was leaving, but work on the farm never stops. They couldn’t afford to hire a farm hand yet, young boy Francis was still in school most of the day, and the animals need daily care. And without Élise’s help, he had even more to do -- selling the milk, trading the eggs, tending to the garden. He knew he could trust the neighbors to alert him immediately in case of  problem… He sighs deeply. “Everything is going to be fine, nothing bad will happen, stop being so negative,” he mumbles as he leads Anis to the milking stand. As he begins cleaning the teats, Clara pushes the door of the barn.

“You left without this,” she says, standing shyly at the door, holding a gourd of water and his packed lunch. Élise told her she always prepared Arno’s lunch, and she even insisted to prepare it today, standing hunched over the counter during contractions, but Clara stood firm and took over.

He groans in frustration, then laughs at his carelessness. “You’re right, thank you. I wasn’t quite thinking straight this morning. How is she?” he asks with a hint of worry in his voice.

“I don’t know much about what’s happening, but mother says it’s progressing,” she shrugs. “It’s also too early to call the midwife, she says.”

He nods, taking the food from her hands and slipping it inside his vest pockets. “Is she… is she in pain?” he hesitates. The perspective of the birth of his first child within a few hours was exhilarating, but his thoughts constantly went back to Élise and the pain she will have to endure to  

give birth. _And it’s all your fault_ , he thinks to himself.

“She’s strong, you know she is...” She touches his arm briefly, and offers an understanding smile.

He nods faintly before taking a deep breath, returning his attention to the goat.

“I have to go back, mother is going to wonder what’s taking me so long,” she says with a sigh.

“Of course. And thank you. Clara?”

“Yes?”

“Please, if anything happens…” His voice breaks, he can’t bring himself to say the words. “If _anything_ happens, come get me as soon as possible.”

“I will, I promise.”

* * *

**12:02**

Sitting hunched on a bale of straw, Arno counts again and again the few coins he received in exchange of the milk earlier this morning. “This is not enough, we’ll never make it…” he grumbles. Élise was right, he certainly doesn’t attract the same pity from the milk buyers in town. Even mentioning she was currently in labor didn’t make them flinch one bit. He puts the coins back in his pouch, that he slips in his chest pocket. From another pocket, he pulls out his meal. With a loud sigh, he bites into a piece of bread. _We need more income, I have to find a solution_ , he thinks to himself. The gentle meow of a kitten brings him back to reality.

“Hello Mademoiselle Moustache,” he says with a smile, gazing down at the kitten sitting resolutely at his feet. “Are you hungry? Do you want a bit of sausage?”

Suddenly, Clara barges into the barn, startling the kitten away. “Élise’s water broke. I’m going to the village to fetch the midwife, mother is sending me,” she pants heavily, catching her breath.

Arno’s smile widens, and his heart begins racing in his chest. _The baby is coming!_ “How long until…?” he tentatively asks.

She shakes her head. “I have no idea. Mother says it can still take many hours.”

His smile fades. “Oh, right.” He couldn’t hide his impatience, his frustration, and his worry. Each hour that passes is supposed to bring him closer to the first meeting with his child, and the wait feels like an eternity.

“I’ll be right back!” she shouts as she dashes away.

He finishes his meal in silence, his mind preoccupied, excitement and apprehension warring within him.

* * *

**13:35**

A kitchen bustling with activity is welcoming him as he pushes the front door of the house. There is a fire burning in the hearth, where food is being prepared and water is being heated. Marcera is carrying a stack of fresh and clean cloths, towels and linens, bringing them upstairs for the delivery of the baby. Elena, the midwife, is giving a list of orders to Clara, who is listening carefully and making mental notes of everything she will need to prepare. The young woman’s cheeks are flushed from the heat of the fire and the excitement; she has never seen a baby being delivered before, and she feels quite proud that the midwife is entrusting her with various small tasks. She knows she will most likely be the one holding Élise’s hand and reassuring her when it’s time to push, and she is looking forward to helping her friend.

“You can’t be here,” Elena barks as she notices Arno walking through the door.

He couldn’t help it: he had to see Élise, he had to talk to her, even if it was just for a few minutes. “Excuse me, last time I checked this is _my_ house, and this is _my_ wife upstairs giving birth to _my_ child,” he retorts, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I understand, but it’s not your place. It’s not the place for men. Giving birth, it’s a thing for us women,” she explains calmly, yet firmly. “We’ll come and get you as soon as the baby is born. Now, go, let us do our work.” She tries to close the door, but he holds it open.

“Arno?” Élise’s calls from upstairs. He can hear the pain in her voice, and this pain hit him head on, like a punch in the stomach.

“Élise!” he calls back before dashing for the staircase. Elena tries to stop him but he is too fast, climbing the steps two by two. In their bedroom, he finds Élise sitting in bed, both hands on her belly, rocking herself as she fights a contraction. She's biting her lip hard, her face contorted in pain, her body shaken by uncontrollable sobs.

“Arno…” Élise cries as she sees him standing next to her.

“Élise…” His voice trails. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his embrace. "Shhhhhh. I'm here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry," he whispers, kissing the top of her head and stroking her back.

He turns his gaze towards the door. Both Elena and Marcera are looking at him square in the eyes, their furious faces making it very clear he wasn’t welcome. Defeated, he lowers his head and nods slightly. “I… I have to go back to work… I’m sorry, my love…” It wasn’t a lie. As much as he’d want to stay with her until the baby is born, there was still a lot of work to do before the end of the afternoon.

“Arno, please…” she begs, burying her head in his chest and clawing at his shirt.

“We’ll take care of her,” Marcera reassures, patting his shoulder. She strokes Élise’s back, while taking her by one shoulder, pulling her away from Arno’s arms. “Go, my son. She’ll be fine. She’s in good hands.”

“Alright, I’m going,” he hisses to the two women. He takes Élise's head between his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks, and stares deeply in her emerald eyes. “You can do this, you’re strong. I love you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing her cheeks, tasting her tears. With a heavy heart, he hugs her tightly once more before getting up to his feet and leaving the room, covering his ears to block the sound of her cries.

* * *

**16:45**

The goats stalled for the evening and have been milked. Arno is finishing grooming the horses, the repetitive and almost meditative movements keeping his mind occupied. Breaking the silence at regular intervals, he can hear Élise’s loud cries all the way from the house, his stomach tightening in knots each time.. _Another contraction,_ he thinks to himself. “I’m so sorry, Élise, I’m so sorry…” he says softly.

He pulls an apple and a knife from his pocket. “I wish I could take your pain away. I wish it was me suffering instead of you,” he says as he cuts the apple in half. “You can do this, I know you can. Can you hear me in your mind, can you hear my thoughts, can you feel my love?”

The horses happily take the half-apples he holds in each palm of his hands, their enthusiasm bringing a faint smile to his lips.

Another loud cry -- he can hear his name being called. His smile twists into a grimace. After checking the locks of the stalls are secure, he lets himself fall back against the wall.

“And God… if you are listening… I beg of you, don’t take her away from me. Or the baby…” He feels his chest tightening up and each breath is a struggle, terrified and in agony at the thought of losing Élise or their child. “You've already taken away everyone I've ever loved. What did I do as a child to deserve losing my parents? Or is it that you knew who I would become? You knew I would later take lives myself, and be the judge of who deserves to live and who deserves to die? Please, have mercy. I beg of you, don’t take them away from me… I’ll do anything, _anything_...” he implores, shaking his head.

“The midwife said it was time to start pushing!” Clara’s cheerful voice stirs him out of his prayer.

He breaks into a broad smile, swiftly drying his tears with his sleeve. _Finally!_ “So the baby is coming now?”

She nods, returning his smile. “Yes!”

“And I suppose I can’t go inside?” he asks prudently, already knowing the answer. She shakes her head in sympathy. “I figured as much,” he adds with a loud sigh. _More waiting, more worrying, more suffering._

“It’s almost over,” she says, trying to lift his spirits.

“I know.” He groans in frustration, then motions her to leave. “Go on, go hold her hand, I’m sure she needs it.”

She chuckles. “I’ll be right back with good news, I promise!”

“Tell her I love her.” he says softly. _If the worse happens… No, don’t think about that_ , he scolds himself.

She nods, looking into his tormented eyes. “I will.”

* * *

**17:57**

“I can’t, I can’t…” Élise pants, shaking her head vigorously. Sitting on the birthing chair, covered in sweat, her hair matted and damp, and her face red from exertion, she clings to Clara’s hand and lets out another cry. “It hurts, it hurts so badly!”

“YES, YOU CAN!” Elena retorts. She is crouching in front of Élise, with her hands under the chair, ready to catch the baby.

Marcera is standing next to her, holding a unfolded blanket over her arms.

“The head is almost coming out, one last push, use the force of the contraction to help you, come on!” the midwife encourages.

Élise nods faintly while catching her breath, as she feels another contraction strike. _Okay, I can do this, I have to do this_ , she thinks to herself. Mustering all her strength, she gives one last push with everything she has left.

After more than fifteen hours in labor, she finally welcomes their first child into the world. Exhausted, breathing heavily and trembling from head to toe, she drops against the back of the chair, letting go of Clara’s hand. A wide grin appears on her lips at the sound of her baby’s first cries.

“Do... do I have... a daughter?” she stammers.

“Yes, indeed, you have a beautiful daughter!” Elena says as she proceeds to cut the umbilical cord and hand the baby to Marcera.

“I knew it, I just knew it… I knew my baby was a girl...” she laughs, tears running down her cheeks.

“You did fantastic,” Clara says, dabbing her forehead and her face with a cold washcloth, while Marcera cleans and swaddles the baby, after she was briefly examined by the midwife.

“I want to see my baby, and I’m thirsty,” Élise moans, feeling another milder contraction building.

The midwife kneels in front of Élise again, placing a pail under the birthing chair. “Don’t worry, you’ll see her soon. We just need to get everything else out first.”

She nods and whimpers, getting into position to push again. After the placenta is delivered, she is finally presented with her baby, all swaddled up in one of the embroidered blankets she received from the women of the Café.

She breaks in tears at the sight of her daughter, elation consuming her, the pain she endured suddenly a thing of the past.

She takes her baby with trembling hands, cradling her to her chest. The baby looks up to her, gentle eyes meeting her gaze filled with wonder. “Hello my little girl, I’m your mommy!” she says with a giggle, caressing the baby’s head. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, my baby Bunny? I never thought I’d hold my own child in my arms, I never thought I’d become a mother… I have no idea what I’m supposed to do! This is all new to me, you’ll have to be patient.”

She pauses a moment to look at her baby, staring into her eyes, then kissing her forehead softly. “I might have given you life, you might be coming out of my womb, but I know you’re the reason I'm still walking upon this Earth,” she continues. “You gave _me_ life. You gave me strength when I couldn’t fight anymore, I felt your presence in me like a driving force. It's all so clear, I didn’t die in that Temple for a reason. And this reason is _you_. Maybe we had it all wrong, maybe I wasn’t the one with the great destiny, the bringer of peace and unity. Maybe _you_ are.”

She closes her eyes, dizzy and weak, gently rocking her baby in her arms. “Don’t listen to your mother rambling, bunny. It's been a long day!”

“May I go tell Arno the baby is here?” Clara asks, already halfway through the door of the bedroom.

“Of course, child,” Marcera says as she finishes to gather the dirty linens and cloths that were used during the delivery, after cleaning the floor from all the blood and fluids.

"Are you ready to nurse your baby?" Elena asks, stroking the baby’s head.

Élise gives her a confused and worried look. _Right. Nursing. Feeding my baby. Yes. That’s what I’m supposed to do._ "How... do I do that?" She is trying to focus her attention on her baby, but her brain is foggy and she can’t think clearly.

"Let me show you,” Elena says with a warm smile. “She's hungry right now, see how she moves her mouth? And if you touch her cheek with your finger, she turns her head..." She gently touches the baby’s cheek with her index, the baby immediately turning her head in that direction. She helps Élise pull down her chemise, and position the baby’s mouth within reach of her nipple. "And If you hold her like that..."

The midwife doesn’t finish her sentence, noticing Élise’s pale and waxy face, drained from blood, her eyelashes fluttering as she struggles to remain conscious.

She rapidly takes the baby from her arms before Élise drops her, handing her to Marcera, who lays her gently in the bassinet next to the bed. Upset by the commotion and for being torn away from the comforting arms of her mother, the baby begins to cry.

Elena curses under her breath as she sees the pail under the chair filled with blood to the rim. “Damn redhead, I knew you’d be trouble!” she grumbles. “Marcera, I need your help, she’s bleeding!”

“Wh… what… I’m bleeding… no…” Élise mumbles, her speech slurred. _This is it, I’m dying, I knew this would happen. The premonitions. They were real..._ “Make it... stop... “ she implores, as she feels herself fading into unconsciousness. “Bunny… I love you..."                                                                                                   

* * *

Meanwhile, Arno is in the training room, punching on one of the sand-filled bags hanging from a sturdy wooden beam, in a desperate attempt to blow off some steam. It has been an interminable and frustrating day, powerless as he was to ease Élise’s pain. Suddenly, in the distance, he hears the cry of a baby. Stopping in his tracks, he stands still, a large grin on his face, breathing a loud sigh of relief. _Thank God, my son is here! I know you could do it, my love_ , he thinks to himself, feeling the weight of the world instantly lifted from his shoulders.

Overjoyed, he punches the bag a few more times, followed by a high kick. He can’t stop smiling at the thought of holding his baby in his arms for the first time very shortly.

He unwraps his hands, carefully folding the rags and placing them on the table in the corner of the room.

An euphoric Clara bursts through the door, relieved to have found him after looking into the barn and the stables first. “The baby is here! Congratulations, you have a daughter!”

His smile freezes, and the corner of his mouth twitches a little, as he tries to hide his disappointment. _Better luck next time, I suppose._ He shakes his head. "Can I see them?" he asks, feeling ashamed by his reaction. _Of course I’m happy to have a daughter. A healthy child is all I want!_

“We're cleaning the room and all, it shouldn't take too l-..."

“CLARA! COME BACK IMMEDIATELY!” Marcera shouts from an open window.

“I’m coming with you,” he snaps, fear filling his heart..

She tries to stop him, in vain. “I’m not sure... it’s a good idea…” she stutters, running after him.

“I’m done being pushed aside!” he growls, racing towards the house as fast as he can, Clara following in his trail.

Inside, Marcera is rushing down the stairs, sweat pearling on her forehead. She is carrying a pile of bloodstained linens, that she dumps in a corner next to the staircase, where a sizeable pile of stained sheets have already accumulated..

His heart sinks at the sight of the sheets. “I want to see my wife and my daughter,” he demands, his voice quivering.

“Not right now, there are some complications, she’s bleeding. The midwife is with her. Clara, warm up some water. I need to go back up there,” Marcera says firmly. Despite fearing the worse her friend, who she loves as her own child, she is trying to remain calm, and is determined to do everything she can to save her life. Clara hurries to the kitchen, pouring water into the large copper pan.

“Comp… compli… cations…?” he stammers, too stunned to speak coherently.

“Please, son, wait here. We’ll be right there with you!” Marcera says as she hurries back upstairs.

* * *

**19:12**

Arno is sitting at the table, eyes closed, hands joined together. He has been repeating the same prayer over and over again for the last hour. He can hear the baby cry every now and then, her cries stirring something in him that he never felt before, his empty arms longing to hold his daughter to comfort her. _Is there such a thing as a father’s instinct too?_ he wonders.

He loses his train of thought as he hears footsteps and deep sighs of relief coming from the staircase, the midwife, Marcera, and Clara making their way downstairs. They are carrying more piles of bloodstained sheets and cloths, along with the blood-filled pail.

He gets up at once, studying their expressions. “How is she, how are they?” he inquires. He watches them get rid of the sheets, dumping them on the ever growing pile. _So much blood_ , he thinks to himself, a tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he grasps the extent of the drama that unfolded upstairs.

The midwife sighs deeply, touching his arm while staring into his eyes. “Monsieur Dorian…” she begins hesitantly. “I need to warn you: she lost a lot of blood, I thought we would lose her, but she's awake now. Nursing the baby will help the bleeding stop.”

She pauses to allow him to digest the news. “I’ll let you go in now, while I get these to soak and get rid of everything,” she adds, pointing at the pile of linens and at the pail Marcera is carrying. “I’ll check up on her in a few minutes. If she falls asleep, be sure to wake her up.”

“Is she in danger? Is the baby in danger?" _God please, hear my prayer, do not take them away from me..._

"Your daughter is perfectly healthy!” Elena reassures him. “As for Madame... we'll have to wait and see. Pray to God she doesn’t catch a fever. She’ll be very weak the coming weeks. We’re probably looking at more than one month of lying-in. She’ll need your help and support.”

“Yes, certainly, you can count on me,” he nods.

“And we’ll be here to help, my son, rest assured,” Marcera adds. “We’ll heading home shortly, but do not hesitate to knock on our door, even in the middle of the night. We're here for you and Élise. We'll be back tomorrow morning, and there's a warm meal ready for you in the kitchen.”

“Now go meet your baby,” Elena says, patting his shoulder, a large grin on her face. “Congratulations, Monsieur Dorian.”

"Thank you, everyone, for everything,” he says returning her smile, before dashing upstairs.

In the bedroom, the smell of the hard work of childbirth hangs heavy in the air: blood, sweat, amniotic fluid, and other fluids. The room is dark, the shutters are closed, and the curtains are drawn. The faint light of an oil lamp on the bedside table shimmers on her Élise’s pale face, giving her features a ghostly appearance. His grin lights up the room as he looks at his daughter cradled in Élise’s arms, suckling gluttonously at her breast. He approaches the bed quietly, afraid of disturbing this perfect picture in front of him, a picture he had dreamed about for so long: Élise, his wife, holding their baby in her arms.

“Say hello to your daughter,” Élise says with a large smile. He can hear the weariness in her voice, but her emerald eyes are glowing in happiness.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, his voice choking up with emotion. He prudently climbs into bed, coming to sit next to Élise.

“You’re not too disappointed, I hope? I know you wanted a son…”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not. Look at this pretty little girl we made!” He reaches to caress his baby’s head with the most delicate touch of his large fingers. “She has your hair.”

She chuckles. “She has your eyes.”

“She has your chin.”

“She has your nose… and your eyebrows…”

They both chuckle. “She has your ears,” he adds.

“She has your lips.”

He sighs. “She’s perfect.” He slips his arm around Élise’s shoulders, pulling her against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “And I’m so incredibly proud of you, I knew you could do this. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you, I really wanted to, but they wouldn’t let me stay, and I had to work…”

She looks up to meet his gaze. “I know, I understand. I wasn’t alone, Clara and Marcera were fantastic. Marcera assisting the midwife like a pro, and sweet Clara holding my hand. I couldn’t have done this without them."

He kisses her forehead tenderly, pouring all his love into his kiss and his embrace. “What are we going to name her? You get to choose, that was the deal!”

She turns her gaze back to her daughter, smiling fondly at the calm and serene baby laying in her arms. “There is only one name for this precious little girl, this child of unity, the best of Templar and Assassin: _Julie_. Like my mother. I know she would have loved to meet you, my little Julie. She would have loved you so much. But she’ll be watching over you from above, and guide you, whatever path you choose in life.”

“Julie. Hello Julie...” he says, gently touching the baby’s cheek as she cradles her over her shoulder to burp her. “Forgive me for saying this, I think I’m in love with another redhead,” he chuckles, admiring his daughter through the loving eyes of a proud father.

“How quickly I’ve been replaced!” she snorts. Closing her eyes, she leans into him while patting the baby’s back. “I’m so tired, _so_ tired… I want to sleep...” she murmurs.

“You’ve been in labor since the wee hours of the morning, but you need to stay awake, the midwife said so,” he says, brushing her damp and matted hair away from her face. “And she told me, about the bleeding…”

“The curse of redheads, apparently… And this nagging feeling I had, I was right...” She shudders, realizing how she narrowly escaped death once again. The baby’s quiet burp near her ear brings her attention back to the present. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Of course!” he says, the widest of grins adorning his face. He releases Élise from his embrace, straightening his back.

“Let’s get you in your daddy’s arms, little Julie! Here… watch for the head…” she says, as she carefully places the baby in his expecting arms. Smitten to the core, he holds his daughter close to his heart, staring into her drowsy eyes.

“Hello, pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Julie Dorian. You’re that bundle of joy who turned our lives upside down, aren’t you, Sweet Pea? If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here!”

Élise’s heart melts at the sight of their tiny baby girl being held in the strong, protective arms of her father. “But here we are, and here she is, and it just feels right, doesn’t it? This was _our_ destiny.”

“And I bet you’ll be as fiery and stubborn as your mother. I can’t even handle your mother, how am I going to handle a little copy of her, can someone tell me?” he says with a chuckle.

“It’s called unconditional love,” she teases.

He places a soft kiss on the forehead of the infant. “I love you, Julie.”

“You look like you’re still hungry, Julie Bunny!” Élise observes.

“How do you know?” he asks, a confused look on his face.

“The way she moves her mouth. Look…” She runs a finger on the baby’s lips, and the baby latches onto her finger by instinct.

He looks at the baby and at Élise in amazement. “But how do you _know_?”

She chuckles. “The midwife told me, of course! Believe me, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with a baby… I wish my mother was here to help me...” she adds with a melancholic sigh.

“And I wish mine would be here too. And our fathers, of course. Can you imagine your father’s face right now? I bet he’d be infatuated by his granddaughter…”

She nods, breaking into a smile. “I’m still not quite sure he’d approve of me starting a family instead of leading the Order and rebuild France, but I know he’d fall in love with her the moment he’d see her. And I can’t wait for Freddie to meet her. I hope he won’t disapprove of me naming her after my mother.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine him being something else than overjoyed. I guess I should hand her back to you…”

She takes the baby from his arms and into hers. Pulling her chemise down and exposing her breast, she adjusts the baby’s mouth over her nipple, the baby immediately latching onto it. She rubs the baby’s head while she suckles hungrily, Arno watching in awe. “That’s my little baby Bunny… you _are_ hungry…” she coos.

The midwife quietly knocks at the door before entering the room. “How are mother and baby doing? Giving her a second serving, I see!”

“She has quite an appetite!” Élise says, biting her lip against the pain of a particularly strong cramp in her womb.

“That’s a very good sign. May I check the bleeding?” Elena asks, standing next to the bed, staring at Arno.

He nods. “Got it, I’ll be right outside...” He kisses the baby’s head and Elise's cheek before getting out of bed, and out of the room.   
He waits outside in the corridor, his heart aching to be with his baby, anxious to hold her in his arms again. After several long minutes, the midwife finally leaves the room carrying the folded birthing chair under her arm, looking relieved.  
“Women always bleed for a while after giving birth,” she explains. “At least it looks normal now. Keep an eye on her tonight. Give her plenty to drink. She can sleep, but wake her up every 2 hours if she doesn’t wake up by herself. She’ll need to feed the baby. If you have trouble waking her up, or if she doesn’t wake up, have someone fetch me immediately. And if she catches a fever… pray for her.”

He nods. “Understood,” he says solemnly. _She’s not out of the woods yes, so it seems,_ he thinks to himself, sighing deeply.

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Try to get some rest too.”

* * *

**April 19, 1795**

Their first night as parents isn’t the most restful. While Élise falls into a deep slumber between each feeds, sometimes even before she is finished feeding Julie, exhaustion from labor and blood loss taking over her body, Arno doesn’t sleep a wink. He watches over her, being attentive to her every need, bringing her something to drink, constantly checking if she is still breathing or if she is developing a fever. And when he isn’t watching over Élise, he stares at Julie sleeping peacefully in the bassinet next to their bed, admiring the little wonder with a contented smile.

In Élise’s waking moments, there is time for her and Arno to bond as parents -- their struggle to change the baby’s diaper or rearrange the swaddle being the cause of many giggles.

He checks his watch -- 4am. Soon it will be time for another feed. He hears the baby fussing in her bassinet. He gently picks her up, and holds her in his arms and against his chest with the blanket wrapped around her. “Hello, Sweet Pea. I still can’t believe you’re here! You’re so tiny in my arms. I know I said I wanted a son, but you’re perfect just the way you are! With your ten little fingers, and your ten little toes.”

He walks to the window, rubbing the baby’s back to comfort her. He pulls the curtains and opens the shutters; the moon is shining high in the clear sky. “Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot. Prête-moi ta plume… how did it go again?” He lets out a deep sigh, resting his cheek on the baby's head as he swayed back and forth. “What kind of father am I if I can’t even sing you a lullaby?”

He shifts his little girl from his chest to his arms, his heart filling with pride and love as he looks down at his precious baby.

“I just want to be a good father, Sweet Pea. Whatever that means. I promise I’ll work hard. I promise I’ll protect you. I promise I’ll always be there for you. I don’t know what the future holds for you, but I promise I’ll raise you to be a strong and independant woman, like your mother. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. And I love her so very much. But I love you, too. Oh God, I love you. With all my heart. Well, half of it. The other half belongs to your mother,” he adds with a smile.

He walks back to the bed, carefully sitting down on the edge. “I can’t wait to see you grow up, to hear your first words, to watch you take your first steps. To see you get married, and have children. Yet, at the same time, I don’t want you to grow up at all. I wish you could forever remain my tiny baby girl... ”

He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat and blinks back the tears coming to his eyes. “Don't listen to your father rambling, sweetpea. They say grown men don't cry, but they are lying." He drops delicate kisses on Julie’s forehead. "Dodo, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira bien vite. Dodo, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira bientôt,” he sings softly.

“Arno?” Élise calls, confused.

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry…” he apologizes, as the baby begins to whimper in his arms.

She smiles, shaking her head. “I thought I heard her cry, must have been my imagination. I don’t recall ever hearing you sing. You have a beautiful voice.”

He returns her smile, blushing at her compliment. “I think she’s hungry…”

Without getting up, she takes the baby from his arms and lays her next to her, bringing her nipple within reach of the baby’s mouth to feed her.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, smoothing her hair and caressing her cheek.

“Exhausted. Weak. But happy. So very happy,” she says, her eyes full with weariness.

“I have to get up in a couple of hours, the animals will be waiting for me…” he yawns, stretching his arms.

“You should try to get some sleep, you look like hell,” she smirks.

He climbs back into bed, suddenly craving her body against his, needing to feel her softness and her warmth, to feel her breathing, to feel her alive. He snuggles close, wrapping one arm over her waist, his hand laying on her now deflated belly.

“Dodo, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira bien vite. Dodo, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira bientôt,” she sings quietly, running a fingertip over her daughter’s forehead, down to her cheek.

Lulled by Élise’s soft singing voice, he closes his eyes at last, quickly falling asleep.


	14. Baby Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to amayanocturna (amayanocturna.tumblr.com) for the pets prompt and for answering my silly animals questions -- and for making, yet again, a beautiful drawing of Élise :3
> 
> And also, a huge thank you to dorianelise (dorianelise.tumblr.com) for the guest house prompt, AND for being my pregnancy, delivery, and postpartum blues consultant :)

[Mama's Bunny](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/art/Mama-s-Bunny-573233620) by [ForeverFallen16](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/)

**April 22, 1795**

Arno tiptoes across the room, impatient to see his baby after a long day of work.

“How was my Sweat Pea today? Have you been a good girl to your mother?” he asks as he gently caresses the baby’s cheek.

Élise is lying in bed, gripping the blanket tightly under her chin, staring blankly at the baby sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. She barely acknowledges his presence. Noticing her blank stare, he sits on the edge of the bed and leans forward to kiss her forehead.

“Élise, what’s wrong?”

She shrugs, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing, I’m just very tired...” she says in a low and monotonous voice.

“Are you eating enough?” he asks, brushing away strands of hair from her face.

She slaps his hand away. “Yes, Arno, I’m eating enough,” she snaps, staring angrily into his eyes. “And I’m having plenty of rest, as the only thing I can do these days, whenever Julie isn’t demanding my attention, is sleep. They won’t allow me to get out of bed, not that I _could_ get out of bed anyway,” she grumbles.

“I’m sorry…” he sighs, taken aback by her reaction.

She bites her lip, regretting lashing out at him. “No, I’m sorry,” she apologizes with a faint smile. “I’m just… tired. And bored. Of course Marcera and Clara are keeping me company from time to time, but I can’t even hold a decent conversation without falling asleep from feeling so weak. And Julie is not very talkative…” she snorts.

“She’s a baby!”

“I know! Don’t get me wrong, I love Julie with all my heart and soul, and I’m feeling blessed to have her in my life...” She turns her gaze back to Julie, tears pricking her eyes.

He frowns. “But...? I feel a ‘but’ coming…”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” she exclaims, tears now running down her cheeks. “I don’t know what she wants, what she needs, most times when I’m alone and she begins to cry, I just stare at her… or I break in tears myself… If Marcera is with me, she seems to know instantly, and she tells me what I should do. Even at night, you seem to know when she needs to be fed or when she simply needs to be comforted… Shouldn’t I be the one to know that? I’m her mother, I carried her for nine months, shouldn’t I instinctively know what my own child needs? What kind of mother does that make me?” she cries, covering her face with her hands.

“Élise, my love, stop. Stop right now. It breaks my heart seeing you like this.” He pulls her into his chest. “Stop being so hard on yourself,” he says in a soft, soothing voice. “Listen to me: I don’t know what Julie wants when she cries at night. I’m as clueless as you are. Maybe I’ve been lucky, and I’ve given you the impression I knew her more than you do. Believe me, I don’t. Marcera had four children, she knows those things. And remember: she was a new mother once. I’m certain she knows how you feel, talk to her.”

“I want _my_ mother…” she sobs, cradled in his arms. Now that Julie is born, she feels the void left by her mother’s death more than ever. _How am I supposed to raise a child?_ she wonders, the burden of her new responsibilities weighing down on her shoulders.

“I know, I know…” he murmurs, smoothing her hair. _My Élise, my love, you are not the only one who wishes your mother was still here, if you only knew,_ he thinks to himself.

In her bassinet, Julie’s quiet whimpers gradually turn into loud cries. Élise stiffens in Arno’s arms. “Go on…” he encourages, releasing her from his embrace.

She shakes her head, her breathing accelerating. “I don’t know what she wants, you pick her up…”

He gently rubs her back, trying to calm her. “You can never do wrong.”

She carefully sits at the edge of the bed, the movement alone making her dizzy. She takes a deep breath and wipes her tears from her cheeks before taking Julie into her arms. “Are you hungry Julie Bunny? Or you just want to be in my arms? Or you are scared of something? Talk to me… I want to know why you’re crying…” she says softly, fighting the tears that threaten to return. She holds the baby against her chest, rocking her gently as she tries to comfort her, but the baby’s loud cries aren’t quieting down. “See, she doesn’t want to stop crying, I don’t know what to do, I can’t think straight, I can’t…” She gasps for air, anxiety sweeping over her.

He grabs her by the shoulders, then takes her chin between his index and thumb, obliging her to look at him. Her fearful green eyes are filled with tears. “Élise, look at me. Breathe.”

Staring into his tender brown eyes, she takes a few deep breaths, calming herself.

“There you go. So she doesn’t simply want to be cuddled. When was the last time you fed her?” he continues with a reassuring smile.

“I don’t remember. A couple of hours ago, I suppose. An hour feels like an eternity cooped up in here. I’m losing track of time. Shhhhh Bunny…” she hushes, softly swaying the baby.

“Then check if she’s hungry.”

Élise remains silent for a few seconds, as if she was pondering on his words. “My breasts do feel full…” she mumbles, as she uncovers her breast and aligns the baby’s mouth. Julie immediately latches at her nipple, drinking greedily, her tiny hands gripping at Élise chemise. “I guess you were right, _again_ …” she groans as she reclines to adopt a more comfortable position to feed Julie.

“You knew it too, but you said it yourself, you couldn’t think straight. You’re tired, and I cannot even begin to imagine what you’re going through. Élise, what happened? Just a couple of days ago when Julie was born you were happy, serene. And now…” He brings a hand to her face, and caresses her cheek. “I can’t lie: I want my happy Élise back…”

She feels tears rush to her eyes again. “I’m happy, Arno. I am, I _really_ am… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe it’s from being alone in here all day...”

“I’ll be right back!”

He rushes out of the room, coming back a few minutes later carrying a thick leather-bound notebook, a quill, and a bottle of ink.

“Here, maybe this will keep you busy while you’re lying-in…” he says as he places the objects on the bedside table next to Élise.

She looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Where did you get this? It must have cost you a fortune. Arno, if you bought this…”

“No, I brought it with me from Paris, to eventually replace my notebook,” he explains calmly. “It’s yours now, if you want it. You can start writing your journal again, write letters to Julie for her to read when she’s older, write letters to your mother, or your father…”

“Why would I do that?” she scoffs.

“To say all those things you wish you could say. To help you sort out all those thoughts racing through your tormented mind. To help you heal.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work…” she dismisses, shaking her head, returning her attention to the baby in her arms.

“It worked for me.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, a perplexed look on her face.

“Your father…” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. All those years, he had never told Élise about the letters he has been writing to his father. It was never his intention to hide them from her, but there was never an appropriate moment to open up about this little secret.

“When I joined your family, one of the first things your father did was give me a notebook,” he continues. “He encouraged me to write a letter to my father. He said writing would help me feel less sad about his loss.”

A tight knot in his stomach forms as he recalls the hours following his father’s death: apprehensively entering a strange house, filled with strangers -- kind and caring strangers, but strangers nonetheless, where he was shown to his room; François de la Serre inviting him to sit at the desk, and handing him quill, ink, and paper.

Élise smiles warmly, moved by his admission. While she was jealous of all the attention her father was giving to Arno at the time, she always admired her father for showing kindness to an orphan boy, even if he was from the enemy's side. “Did he really do that? That is very kind of him. I know he cared a lot about you.”

Arno returns her smile, the knot in his stomach easing away. “Believe me, it worked. And to this day, I’m still writing to my father. I wrote a letter when we found out you were pregnant. I was so happy, I had to share the news. And I wrote a letter when Julie was born, to announce he was a grandfather…”

“Were you writing a letter that morning when we left to visit the farm?” she interrupts.

He nods. “Yes, I was.”

“What were you writing?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

“I… I can’t tell you…” he stammers. He looks away, avoiding her gaze. He couldn’t admit his doubts about her mother’s death. Not now.

“Oh. Too personal?” She frowns, noticing how the simple mention of this letter seemed to upset him.

“Just random thoughts I’d rather keep for myself. One day, I’ll share them with you. I promise. In due time.”

“The same day I’ll share my journals with you, I suppose,” she chuckles.

He joins her laughter. “Shall I bring you a tray from downstairs? The soup they’ve cooked today smells delicious!”

“Yes, please. I’m ravenous. I hate soup, but I’d eat anything right now!”

He walks towards the door, stopping in the doorway. “Try it. For me.”

She nods. “I will.”

“Oh, and you can have this, too. So you won’t lose track of time.” He pulls his father’s watch from his pocket and throws it on the bed, within her reach.

‘Arno, no, I can’t… It’s your father’s watch...” she says, shaking her head.

“Take it. I have the sun and the animals to tell me when it’s time to do something. I don’t need it.”

She picks up the watch, closing her hand over it and bringing her hand to her heart. She knows what this watch means to him, and she feels honored that he entrusted her with it.

“Thank you,” she says with a warm smile, as he leaves the room to bring back dinner for both of them.

* * *

**April 24, 1795**

Arno is getting dressed in a hurry. Having spent half the night awake with a fussy and colicky Julie, he overslept, and he cannot keep the animals waiting for much longer.

While buttoning the last buttons of his vest, he leans to kiss the baby’s head, as he hears a quiet sniffle behind him.

“Why are you crying?” he asks with a note of impatience in his voice. Élise’s only answer is a shrug. _Here we go again_ , he groans silently, rolling his eyes. “Élise, I have to go…”

Her sniffles turn into sobs. “Don’t, please. Stay with me…” she pleads, her eyes reddened and puffy.

“I can’t stay. Trust me, I’d rather stay with you and Julie, but I have to work.”

“I can’t do this alone, I need you!” she cries out loud, clinging at his sleeve.

He sighs, taking her hand in his, her skin cold and clammy. He has never seen her behaving so irrationally for a prolonged period of time, her usual anxiety flare-ups never lasting more than a few hours. It has now been days, and she seemed to be sinking further and further as the days go by. His heart is aching for not being able to offer more support, the farm keeping him away from her and the baby. _I can’t let her down, for her sake and for Julie’s._ “You are not alone. Marcera and Clara will be here within the next hour. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“I’m not a mother, I can’t be a mother, I can’t do this…” she gasps between sobs.

“Yes, you _are_ a mother. You have it in you,” he says, squeezing her hand “Remember how you were caring for me after I got myself stupidly injured? That was you being a mother. And I know you love Julie.”

“It’s not the same…” she moans. How can she explain she has never felt so terrified, that she’d rather take on a whole army on her own than be left alone with her daughter?

He gently strokes her hand, feeling her tension gradually loosen up. “You and Julie need to get to know each other. Believe in yourself: you can do this.” She nods faintly, drying her tears with the back of her free hand.

“I have to go now. I’ll try to come back for lunch and spend some time with you here. Would you like that?” he asks, trying to meet her gaze, but she keeps on staring at her hand in his. She nods again, the thought of seeing him again in a few hours making her smile.

“I’ll see you later then.” Lifting her chin, he presses his lips on hers for a quick, yet soft kiss.

When she is certain he is far enough to not hear her, she breaks into loud sobs, the thought of being alone with the baby overwhelming her with fear once again.

* * *

Having finally succeeded at putting Julie down to sleep, alone in the silent room, Élise picks up the notebook from the bedside table. She runs her fingers on the smooth leather cover before opening it at the first page. Dipping the quill in the ink bottle, she begins to write. 

> _My dearest parents,_
> 
> _Arno said I should write you a letter. I have no idea what to say. You’re grandparents now, by the way. Congratulations! It’s a girl, and her name is Julie. Yes, like you, Mother._

With a loud groan of frustration, she tears the page from the notebook, crumbles the sheet of paper, and throws it across the room.

“This is useless!” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

There is a quiet knock on the door: Arno enters the room, carrying his lunch in one hand, and a meowing and unappreciative Mademoiselle Moustache in the other.

“Mademoiselle Moustache and I are coming to keep you company for a little while, aren’t we kitty?” he says looking at the kitten with an amused smile.

He gently puts the cat down on the bed, and immediately the kitten goes to greet Élise and sit on her lap.

“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Moustache. You’ve gotten bigger since the last time I saw you, look at you!” Élise coos as she caresses the cat’s head and rubs her chin, the animal responding with a loud purr.

With a contented smile, Arno sits next to her. He breaks his bread in two, handing the larger piece to Élise.

She shakes her head. “No, Arno, I have already eaten this morning…”

“Then eat some more. You need to build your strength back,” he insists, holding the piece of bread in front of her.

“You’re working very hard all day, I can’t take half your meal!”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re nursing Julie, and the midwife said you need to eat a lot to recuperate. There. Eat.”

She wants to say no, but she can’t deny she is hungry, and longing to sink her teeth into that piece of bread he’s holding under her nose. With a thankful smile, she takes the bread from his hand and takes a large bite. They eat without saying a word, Arno watching Julie sleeping in her bassinet, while Élise absent-mindedly pets the kitten curled up on her lap, her heart heavy with sorrow, fear, and gloomy thoughts.

“Thank you. For coming to keep me company,” she says softly, breaking the silence “Marcera left early after picking up the dirty diapers and cloths, and Clara went home after tidying up, she left me some food on her way out. I barely saw them today. I know they are busy, and they have their own family and obligations, but I feel so lonely.” Her voice breaks and tears pool in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I hate being like this, dependent and weak…”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my love.”

In her bassinet, Julie whimpers softly, catching the kitten’s attention. Without hesitation, the cat hops from Élise’s lap and curls up next to Julie who is sucking on her thumb, much to Arno and Élise’s amusement.

“So much for keeping _me_ company, Mademoiselle Moustache!” she chuckles. Reaching with her hand, she delicately touches the head of the baby, careful not to wake her up.

“I have to go back, are you going to be fine on your own?” Arno says after a moment.

She nods, her smile turning into a frown. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a say in that…” she groans.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He pulls her close and kisses her forehead. “Did you try to write?” he asks.

“Yes, but it doesn’t work…” she murmurs, her head buried in the crook of his neck. _Arno, hold me, don’t go, please..._

“Keep trying. Do it for me,” he says, hugging her one last time before returning to work, leaving her with empty arms, and an empty heart.

* * *

**April 27, 1795**

_Extract from the journal of Élise Dorian_  

> Another morning. Another scene.
> 
> Why do I always end up in tears when Arno leaves? What has motherhood done to me? I don’t recognize myself. I am weak, dependent, powerless. Where did _I_ go, where did Élise de la Serre the fiery Templar, where did the essence of my being disappear to?
> 
> I thought I had it all figured out. I was going to be a mother, I was going to raise my daughter and teach her everything I know. I was going to be tender, and loving, and caring. I was going to be strong, and fierce, and brave.
> 
> Instead, I am cold, and distant, and withdrawn.
> 
> I am afraid.
> 
> I am afraid I will never be a good mother.
> 
> I am afraid of myself.
> 
> Back in the old days, Arno talked about dreams of having a family and a peaceful life, and his voice would sound like he was in a trance and he would close his eyes, as if he could see it all come true right in front of him. A smile would creep on his lips and he would sigh, telling every small detail of how he saw our children to be, playing and getting into trouble as frequently as us their parents once did. At that time, it seemed like something he would never see in life, a distant and unattainable dream.
> 
> But here we are, we left our old life behind, and we are now a family. Since Julie is born, I have never seen him this happy in my entire life.
> 
> Why can’t I be happy too?
> 
> I love you, my darling daughter, my Julie. With all my heart. You are part of me, and I can’t bear the thought of anything ever happening to you.
> 
> Yet, I can’t seem to be capable of giving you the love you deserve.
> 
> I’m sorry for not being a good mother.
> 
> Help. I need help.
> 
> I need to breathe, I’m suffocating.

* * *

**April 28, 1795**

_Extract from the journal of Élise Dorian_  

> I had the pleasure to welcome the midwife this morning -- a routine visit, she said. She couldn’t leave soon enough, and hadn’t I been so weak, I would have kicked her out of this room myself. How dare she suggest that I hire a wet nurse for my baby?
> 
> “You look tired and exhausted. Feeding your baby is keeping you weak, you should stop and put your own well-being first if you want to survive and have other children,” she said.
> 
> “Are you out of your mind?” I shouted at her, unable to contain my anger. “She is my child and I will feed her with my own milk! I’m not letting a stranger do that for me!”
> 
> I couldn’t bring myself to admit it to her. I couldn’t admit to the midwife feeding Julie is one of the rare moments I feel a connection with my daughter. The rest of the time, my own child is a complete stranger to me. But when I feed her, I’m feeling _something_. And _something_ is better than nothing. I can’t let her take this _something_ away from me.
> 
> And I couldn’t tell her there is no way in hell we have the means to hire someone to feed our baby. We can barely feed ourselves, Arno and I.
> 
> The midwife also said I was finally allowed to get out of bed. However, I am not allowed to leave the room, and I must keep the shutters and curtains closed. “Less chance to catch a fever,” she explained. Pfff. Ludicrous. She had barely left the room that I opened the window to let fresh air in. Then I moved an armchair by the window -- I thought I was going to pass out from the effort. I sat there with Julie swaddled in my arms so she doesn’t catch cold, breathing in the clean spring time air, feeling the warmth of the sun rays on my skin, and impatiently waiting for a glimpse of Arno. When I finally saw him, leading the horses to the pasture, I started to describe was he was doing, explaining to Julie that her father was a hardworking man, a wonderful man, and that he loved us very much. I looked down to the baby in my arms, she was gazing at me with her father's big brown eyes, as if she was listening.
> 
> Suddenly, I didn’t feel so lonely anymore.
> 
> And then I felt it.
> 
> The tiniest of twinge at the pit of my stomach.
> 
> _Happiness_.
> 
> And I decided to cling to that feeling as hard as I could, for Julie’s sake.
> 
> I will climb out of this deep pit I’ve sunk into. I will follow the light out of the darkness.

* * *

**April 30, 1795**

Without uttering a word, Arno lets himself plop onto the bed. Sleepless nights and work-filled days are beginning to have the better of him, and his mind is constantly preoccupied with the welfare of Élise and Julie -- keeping them safe and happy being his number one priority, aside from ensuring they all had enough to eat. The merchants have been friendlier and more generous with their pay the past week, but their financial situation remains precarious.

With a smile, Élise gestures him to be quiet, pointing at Julie sleeping in her bassinet next to the bed. She sets her open notebook on the bedside table to let the ink dry, then turns to her side and curls up facing him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her closer, relishing the warmth and softness of her body against his.

“When was the last time you held me like that?” she asks, burying her head in his chest.

“When you went into labor, I think.”

“That’s many days ago.”

He tightens his embrace. “Are we already forgetting each other?” Caught in the frenzy of their new life, with him working from early in the morning until late in the afternoon, and Élise caring for Julie and sleeping most of the time, there haven’t been many quiet moments between the two of them.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmurs.

“I’ve missed you too. How did it go today?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“It’s still… difficult,” she admits with a sigh, clinging as hard as she can to that hint of happiness, to that glimmer of hope she felt the other day.

He brings a hand to her face, threading his fingers through her hair. She looks up to him, meeting his loving brown gaze.

“Your eyes, they are not as somber and melancholic as they were a few days ago,” he says with a tender smile.

“You are always reading my eyes, aren’t you?” she chuckles.

“They are speaking the words you are not saying out loud,” he says, his lips hovering over hers for a moment before brushing them softly. She tilts her head, her lips now covering his, suddenly deepening the kiss.

In her bassinet, Julie whimpers and fusses, and they let out a low groan of frustration in each other’s mouth.

“I suppose we’ll have to get used to these interruptions!” she grumbles, breaking the kiss.

“Do you want me to go see what she wants?” he asks before pressing his lips on hers once more for a quick kiss.

“No, let me do it…” she says, rolling to the other side, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed to avoid a dizzy spell. “What is it, Julie Bunny? I think you need to be changed, is that it?” she says softly as she picks her up from her bassinet.

“Do you want my help?”

“I need to do this on my own.” She brings Julie to the changing table, her movements slow but steady, Arno watches her every moves, noticing how she seems more at ease than just a few days ago. He also notices the warm smile on her face, how she never loses eye contact and speaks to Julie softly while changing her, in sharp contrast with the nervous and distant Élise he witnessed the past week. _You are a mother, my love. Just believe in yourself_. His eye catches the notebook she left on the bedside table. On the open page, an ink drawing of Julie, sleeping in her bassinet.

“Did you make this?” he asks, immediately taking the notebook to examine the drawing more closely. The lines are unhesitating and smooth, except for a few ink smudges, and the resemblance with their daughter is striking.

“Make what?” She turns her head and sees him holding the notebook, looking at the drawing with amazement. “Oh! You were not supposed to see that…” She bites her lip, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“Why wasn’t I supposed to see this? It’s lovely… I didn’t know you could draw!”

“One of those useless talents I nurtured during my years at the Maison Royale,” she scoffs. “When they were not punishing me by taking away my pencils after I got into another fight, that is.”

“What do you need?”

“What do you mean?”

“What materials would you need to draw? Clearly writing isn’t helping you feel any better, but maybe drawing does…”

After finishing swaddling Julie, she goes to sit next to Arno, holding the baby in her arms to soothe her back to sleep.

“Arno, we can’t afford something as futile as drawing materials, and I don’t know if it’s helping me at all…” she says with a loud sigh. “I was just looking at Julie this afternoon while she was napping. She looked so peaceful, so adorable. I felt the urge to draw her to make this moment last as long as possible. And I am writing my journal again, if you are wondering.” She softly kisses Julie’s forehead, a tender moment between mother and daughter that brings a smile on Arno’s face.

“What if… what if there were other ways to make money? Would you let me buy materials then?” he asks hesitantly. He had been toying with an idea for another source of income, but there was never an opportunity to discuss it with Élise, and he immediately seized the opportunity.

She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Please, hear me out.” He sits straight up in bed, facing her. “I’ve been trying to find other ways to make a few coins until you sell the estate in Versailles, and I thought we could perhaps transform a shed into some sort of a guest house?”

“You can’t be serious!” she exclaims with a mocking grin, rolling her eyes. “You want us to welcome complete strangers into our home? It’s too risky! What if one of these passers-by is a criminal? Or worse, one of Germain’s Templars looking for me -- for _us_?” She looks down at Julie in her arms, the thought of anyone possibly harming her, or harming them, making her shudder.

“Not into our home, no,” he explains calmly. “We can convert that shed that’s practically empty, on the other side of the road. It’s far enough from our house, they can have all their meals there, they won’t need to come into our house.”

“And you expect me to cook for them, and even clean after them? I have enough work as it is! Work I can’t even do right now!” she snaps, before returning her attention to Julie in her arms, patting her back, praying she will fall asleep despite their loud voices. “Plus, you’ll need to buy building materials, you’ve used everything we had on the property to repair the outbuildings and make the training room! And we’ll need to buy furniture, and...”

“I can make this work, trust me,” he interrupts, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And yes, it would mean a little bit more work for you, I realize that. But think about it. We could post a sign at the city hall, and Fabian being our eyes and ears for potential guests, I’m sure it could mean good money -- and less criminals.”

She considers his idea for a moment. They are in dire need of an extra income, and while there is a risk for their safety, they could avoid the worse by having Fabian separate the wheat from the chaff before the travelers set foot inside their guest house.

“I don’t know…” she sighs, torn between keeping her family safe, and making another step towards their financial security.  

“Give it some thought, please.” He slips his arm around her shoulder, pulling her and the baby into his arms. “My two beautiful girls resting in my arms, that’s what I need after a long day of work…”

She chuckles, resting her head on his shoulder. “I thought you’d say you need a warm meal to fill your empty stomach!”

“That too, but right now, let me hug my wife and my daughter, I missed them so very much….”

“You smell…” she blurts, rubbing her nose in the crook of his neck.

“Why, thank you!” he retorts with a laugh.

“... of sweat, and goats, and horses, and dirt, and hay, and the fresh air of the mountains. And I don’t mind one bit. It makes me long for the outside world…” She shifts her body, settling in more comfortably in his arms.

“Bath? Together? After dinner, when Julie is asleep?” He pecks her forehead, then Julie’s.

She suddenly sits straight, slipping away from his embrace and avoiding his gaze. “Oh I don’t know about that…”

“Can you try to be any _less_ enthusiastic?” he mocks, his ego slightly bruised by her rebuff.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry… I… I don’t know... I’ve… changed. I don’t look the same...”

“Élise, look at me.”

Slowly, she turns her her head to glance at him, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“You just had a baby, I’m not expecting you to look the same as before you got pregnant. I’m not that stupid and shallow! And since when do you care about your appearance?” he teases, reaching to caress her cheek.

She turns her head away. “I can’t help it, I feel ashamed. I gained so much weight, I’ve never been so fat in my life, it’s disgusting, I don’t want you to see me like that…”

“Will you just stop?” he says loudly, almost shouting. He moves closer, taking her chin between his index and thumb, staring into her tearful eyes. “I love _you_. Whether you are lean and mean, or plump and soft.”

“I’m not ready...” she admits wearily.

He nods. “As you wish. But let me be clear: I had no other intentions than spending some time with you. Nothing else.”

“Oh, _that_ is not going to happen anytime soon anyway…” she simpers.

“Yes, I am perfectly aware of that, and I will be as patient as you want me to be. I simply want quality time with my wife, who I have barely seen since Julie was born. And who just told me I stink!”

She laughs out loud, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. “Fine. Bath. But if you give me just one look, or make one remark...” she threatens, waving her index finger in front of his nose.

He grabs her finger. “You know me better than that!”

“Sadly, I do!” she retorts with a smirk.

* * *

After eating in their room, Élise feeds Julie while Arno heats up several buckets of water to fill the tub. They undress in silence, Élise purposely staying in the shadows of the room, hiding from his view, nervously biting her lip. “Come here…” he murmurs, taking her hand in his. Reluctantly, she follows him into the light, where his dark eyes skim over the curves of her body, over her full breasts, her wide hips, and the roundness of her belly.

“Listen to me: You are beautiful,” he says, tugging at her hand to pull her closer.

“I’m fat…” she grumbles.

“You were a ghost of yourself when we left Paris. Right now, you look normal, and healthy.”

“I still look pregnant…”  

“No you don’t, what are you talking about? And cut yourself some slack, you just had a baby, not even two weeks ago…”

She looks down to her deflated belly, running her fingers over the shriveled scar under her navel. “The scar… I can’t bear the sight of it… It reminds me of Paris, and Ruddock, and...”

“It’s part of you, whether you like it or not. Do you think I appreciate the constant reminder of your father’s murder each time I see the scar across my face?”

“It healed horribly! It’s all stretched because of the preg-...”

Threading his fingers in her hair, he takes her head between his hands, silencing her with a kiss. “Stop, please. I love you. Just the way you are. Always have, always will. From the first moment I met you, until the day I die, and beyond.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” she murmurs with a sigh.

“You must have been a very, very naughty girl,” he teases, his lips meeting hers again.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me since Julie is born, I don’t recognize myself!” she moans.

“It’s a lot to take in, and you need time,” he says, kissing her forehead. “But for now, Julie is sleeping, and it’s only you and me.”

“Until our little Bunny interrupts again!” she chuckles.

“Welcome to parenthood!” he says, as they both step into the tub.

* * *

 **May 7, 1795**  

Upon opening the front door, he didn’t expect to find Élise sitting at the kitchen table. She looks pale and tired as ever, but there’s a tender smile on her lips as she gazes down at Julie in her arms, who sucking her thumb. “Papa is home!” she coos, gently caressing the baby’s cheek.

He breaks into a smile, delighted to see his wife and daughter after a day of work, and even more delighted to notice how Élise’s mood has drastically improved since the week before.

“Élise? Wha… What are you doing down here?” he says, leaning over to place a soft kiss on Julie’s head, before his lips meet hers for a much needed kiss. He knows she has at least two more weeks of lying-in to carry out, as recommended by the midwife, before she can slowly resume her normal activities. Yet, he knows too well Élise will never agree to remain confined for much longer, regardless of the health risks.

“I had to get out of that room, this lying-in is driving me insane! Just don’t tell anyone, please!” she chuckles, cheekily biting her lip.

He looks around him, suddenly noticing the table has been set, and there’s a warm meal ready to be served on the kitchen counter.

“What’s all this? Did you do this? Élise…” he says reproachfully with a frown.

“Sit down,” she replies calmly with a warm smile, carefully transferring the baby from her arms into his as he sits down at the table.

“Hello my Sweet Pea! I’ve missed you! How’s my baby girl?” he says, holding Julie against his chest, rubbing his cheek on her little head resting against his shoulder.

With a satisfied smile, Élise comes back with two plates filled with Clara’s stew, a large loaf of bread, and half a bottle of wine. He’ll have to buy another loaf tomorrow, instead of them trying to stretch it over two days, but tonight, Arno is going to eat his fill, she decided.

“This smells good! Is it… lamb? Did you make this?” he asks with a large grin, as he hands Julie back to her.

“Goodness, no. Clara made it,” she snorts, setting the baby comfortably in her arms.

“But… why? Don’t get me wrong, this stew looks delicious, I’m starving, and you know how I love lamb...”

She touches his arm, staring into his eyes. “Arno, this is me thanking you, for helping me,” she says with a sheepish smile.

His grin turns into a mocking smirk. “Let me get this straight: you made _Clara_ cook for me, because _you_ wanted to thank me _?_ ”

She lets out a groan, rolling her eyes. “Why do you make it sound even worse than it already is? I couldn’t think of anything else, and I can’t cook myself right now...”

He chuckles, amused by her reaction. “I’m just teasing you, don’t be so easily offended!” He pulls her onto his lap, then cups her face in his hands to kiss her. “Thank you… Thank you so much… This is a lovely surprise… I love you…” he murmurs between kisses, his lips now moving to her jaw and her neck where he leaves quick, smacking kisses.

“Am I forgiven?” she asks with a laugh, his beard tickling the delicate skin of her neck.

“Let me first taste this…” he teases with a wink.

She gets up to sit on her own chair and he takes a few bites of the stew, nodding and smiling. “This is delicious, you are entirely forgiven!” he says with his mouth full, greedily plunging his fork again in the stew.

She smiles and sighs in relief. “The way to a man’s heart is really through his stomach, isn’t it? I suppose I’ll have to ask for Clara’s secret recipe!”

“If we are ever to afford lamb again! Speaking of which… Did you give my idea some more thought?” he asks while tearing a large piece from the loaf of bread, and dipping it in the sauce.

She hesitates an instant, her smile fading. _Giving things a thought is all I can do these days_ , she thinks to herself. She had plenty of time to turn his idea around in her head, and there was only one conclusion. “Yes, I have. And you’re right. We should at least try it. However, I hope you’re not counting on me to help you!”

He shakes his head, a wide grin on his face. “Of course not! I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”

She doesn’t return his smile. She stares into his eyes, her brow furrowed with concern. “An important question remains: with what money are you going to convert the shed into a guest house? Don’t tell me you found a secret stash I don’t know about? Or are you spending the few coins we set aside for Julie? She’s going to outgrow her layette sooner or later, I’ll need to find her clothes, and you know I can’t sew...”

“No secret stash, and no, I’m not using the money we set aside.” he says quickly, avoiding her gaze by looking down at the food on his plate.

“Arno? What have you done without talking to me first?” she asks, tapping her fingers on the table.

He looks up from his plate. She is looking at him with squinted eyes and lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t give me that look!” he retorts. “We are in this precarious situation because of you, remember?” He pauses an instant, before admitting: “I asked Fabian if he could loan me some money to buy what I need.”

“You did _what_? How dare you do such a thing behind my back, Arno Victor Dorian!” she shouts. Fuming, she slaps the top of the table with the palm of her hand. “We promised each other we would never ask for help! We can’t be owing anything to anyone here! We need to remain independent, should we ever need to flee again! I thought it was clear!”

“Do you have a better idea? If you do, I’d love to hear it!” he shouts back, his hand closing in a tight fist.

They stare at each other for a moment, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and their hearts beating fast.

In Élise’s arms, Julie whimpers, their loud voices stirring her awake, while her quiet noises bring them back to reality, cutting through the tension like a knife. Élise takes a deep breath, regretting her outburst. She knows he cannot have taken this decision lightly -- he never does. _I’m the impulsive one after all._ Her expression softens, and a faint smile appears on her lips. “No, I don’t. Let’s not fight, not today, and not in front of Julie… What terms did you negotiate? How deep in trouble are we?”

He rubs his face with his hands and sighs. “He said we don’t need to pay him back until the estate in Versailles is sold. However long that may take.”

“I see. He’s too generous, if you ask me…” She plays absently with the food on her plate, their quarrel curbing her appetite. Julie is asleep again, reassured by their calm voices. “When will you start the work?”

“I’ve already started…” he confesses with a sheepish smile.

“Arno! You didn’t even wait for me to agree!” she scolds, slapping him on the shoulder.

“I knew you’d say yes eventually! We should be done next week. Francis is helping me, the boy is having the time of his life! He’s a fantastic lad.”

She smiles, imagining Arno and Francis working together: the boy eager to show Arno his skills, and Arno more than happy to give him all the room he needs to live his passion. “Glad to hear that. You better give me the grand tour when it’s finished!”

“You will be the first to see it, I promise. And I won’t rent it until you’re back on your feet and ready to work.”

“I certainly hope so!” she chuckles, taking few bites from the stew while he attacks the remaining content of his own plate. _It is indeed delicious, and I’ll need Clara’s recipe_ , she thinks to herself.

Replete, their plates and the bottle of wine empty, and their stomachs full, they sigh in contentment. “Thank you for the meal,” he says, taking her hand in his.

“I thought you’d need it. You’ve been making a lot of sacrifices for us lately,” she explains, glancing down at the sleeping baby in her arms.

He brings her hand to his lips. “I’m making them gladly. Shall I help you upstairs? You look exhausted. I’ll clean the kitchen, don’t worry.”

“What you mean is: _I’ll pile up the dirty dishes in a corner of the kitchen while you’re too far away and too tired to complain about it!_ ” she sneers with a simpering smile, batting her eyelashes.

“Glad to have you back,” he says with a large grin as he helps her up from the chair, careful not to wake up Julie.

“What do you mean?” she says, rising an eyebrow.

“The fire inside you -- it's burning again. There’s still a long way to go, but that snark, and when you were shouting at me…”

She bites her lip. “I have to apologize, you didn't deserve that. I know you didn’t go behind my back, I know you have your family’s best interests at heart.”

He nods, smiling. “Apology accepted. I have to say, I’m used to your temper, and I wouldn’t have you any other way!” Tugging at her hand, he leads her to the staircase. “Now get back in bed, and get some rest. Your husband’s orders.”

“Oui, Monsieur Dorian!” she teases, sticking her tongue out.

* * *

**12 May 1795**

Julie lies on Élise’s chest sleeping soundly with her fists curled into her chemise, rising and falling on her mother’s even breaths. The last few days, Élise had gotten into the habit of taking a short nap after feeding Julie, soothed by the warmth and the weight of the baby’s body on her chest.

Sudden high-pitched barking noises, followed by Arno’s laughter, rouse Élise from her slumber. Holding Julie steady with both hands, she slowly gets up from the sofa, her mind still foggy from sleep. _Did I just hear a dog?_ she asks herself, confused.

In the yard in front of the house, Arno is playing with a lively tawny-colored puppy, the dog bouncing and jumping to each of Arno’s taunt.

“Let me guess: you simply couldn't resist?” she calls, shaking her head. She can’t help but smile at the scene in front of her, Arno laughing and playing like a child, and the puppy already showing a deep fondness for its new master.

Kneeling, he takes the puppy’s head between his hands. “Look at this face!” he says with a wide grin.

She chuckles. “How much?”

“I need a herding dog!” he explains, scratching the dog behind the ears, staring into its bright black eyes.

“How much?” she repeats, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Half of today’s milk,” he admits with a sigh. “At the market earlier today, I overheard a fellow farmer say he had to find new homes for his Briard puppies. You know I’ve always wanted a dog, and if our herd of goats is to grow at a steady pace, I will need a herding dog to help me sooner than later. I couldn’t let this chance pass. And it’s a _she_ , by the way! ”

“Yet another mouth to feed, as if we didn't have enough!” she groans. “Fine, but you're training this puppy! She better not pee on my floor! And Mademoiselle Moustache better be left alone, we need this cat to keep the mice away!”

She takes a few steps closer, the puppy enthusiastically greeting her. In her arms, Julie stirs awake from the puppy’s agitation. Élise crouches to the puppy’s level, quickly running her fingers through her thick coat and patting her sides. “She is indeed adorable!”

“We're all going to get along just fine, won't we?” he says as he snaps his fingers, the puppy swiftly running back to him. “Hey, I have to find you a name! What are we going to call you?”

“How about... Brioche?” she says, straightening her back, and shifting Julie’s position in her arms.

He nods. “Yes, I like that. What do you think? Do you want to be called Brioche? Yes you do!” He turns his head towards Élise, smiling widely. “You know, you always find the best names!”

“Does that mean I'm picking the names of the next children too?” she smirks.

“No. We still have our deal!” he simpers.

“And plenty of time until the next baby arrives! You can still change your mind!”

“Shall we go meet your new friends the goats, Brioche?” he says, clapping his hands, the puppy responding with loud barks.

“Food will be on the table in an hour. You better be back on time!”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I will. And what are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be up in our room?” he scolds playfully.

“I'm going insane up there! I promised Marcera I'd stay inside the house, in exchange I'm allowed to come downstairs. However, I am not allowed to work yet, and I have to sit or lie down at all times.”

“Then go back inside, and lie down,” he says, pointing at the front door. “We don't want you catching a fever, and you need to rest!”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “You enjoy ordering me around, don’t you? Alright, I'll go back to napping with my little baby Bunny. Mother and daughter need their sleep, don’t we Julie Bunny?” she says, planting little kisses on the baby’s head.

“Come on, Brioche! Let's go to the barn!” Arno calls, sprinting down the path, Brioche following him closely behind.

* * *

 **20 May 1795**  

> _My dearest parents,_
> 
> _I don’t know where to begin, thoughts are racing through my mind as I’m writing this letter. So much has happened since you visited me in my dream in Versailles, when I begged for your forgiveness after choosing a different path than the one you laid out for me._
> 
> _After a long journey, we bought a farm in the Alps, our safe haven where we will raise our family. Arno and I are working relentlessly hand in hand, like the best of teams, to make a living. Money is scarce, but love abounds. And the freedom and peace of mind I experience here is priceless._
> 
> _My beloved mother, my beloved father, I have the pleasure to announce I been blessed with the birth of a healthy and beautiful daughter, your first grandchild. Her name is Julie, as there was no better name than yours, Mother, for this child of unity born out of the love between a Templar and an Assassin. When I gaze at this peaceful child sleeping next to me, I sense a tranquil force that radiates from her spirit. A healing force, a unifying force._
> 
> _I will teach her to be kind, to love, yet to be strong, to remain true to herself, and to fight for what she believe is right. Just like you taught me, Mother. She will be raised to walk what path she wishes in life, free to make her own choices. How can we possibly know as parents what our children will become later in life?_
> 
> _I have to confess, adjusting to my new life as a mother has been nothing but a rocky road. The weight of the responsibilities for raising children is immense. Yet, I wouldn’t exchange Julie’s smiles, Arno’s love and devotion, and our simple life here on the farm, for any high ranking title or all the money in the world. This is my own choice, and I will stand by it._
> 
> _Be at peace, my dearest parents, and know that your daughter has found true happiness at last._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Your Élise_

* * *

**23 May 1795**

The sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky and a warm breeze is blowing over the valley, announcing the warmer summer days. Lifting her straw hat to wipe the sweat off her forehead, Élise takes a deep breath before repeatedly planting the teeth of her digging fork in the soil of the garden.

She received the green light from the midwife to gradually resume working on the farm the week before, much to her relief. Tightly swaddled and strapped on her chest with a sling, close to her heart, Julie follows Élise wherever she goes. “If you don’t want to be with child immediately, keep your baby with you at all times, and feed her when she needs it,” Elena confided while showing Élise how to use the sling. The advice didn’t fall on deaf ears.

Arno came along for Élise’s first trip to the market since the baby is born, smiling as the proud father and husband that he was as everyone welcomed Élise back so warmly, and congratulated them on the birth of their daughter. There was no denying the charming effect of a baby, the merchants having felt generous with their pay that day.

The long walk to the village pulling the heavy wagon with milk jugs every day has proven to be too exhausting for Élise, and today was Arno’s turn. Back from the village, he is greeted enthusiastically by Brioche. On his way to return the wagon to the barn, he stops in his tracks as he sees Élise standing barefoot in the soil of what will become their vegetables patch.

“What are you doing?” he calls, a worried look on his face, his protective nature instinctively taking over.

“I’m working. The rose bushes need to be trimmed, and if we want to eat next winter, we must start planting vegetables,” she explains, pausing briefly before resuming her digging of the garden.

“Don’t tire yourself. You’re barely back on your feet, you should take it easy. Wait, are those MY breeches?” he asks, noticing the rolled up legs of baggy breeches which undoubtedly look like his own.

She stops and straightens her back, then looks down at her clothes with a smile and a shrug. “Well, yes, I’m wearing your breeches. I can’t possibly work in the garden wearing a dreadful dress, and my old clothes don’t fit me anymore, thanks to Julie Bunny here!” she says, gently patting the baby’s back.

“You can _never_ go to the village dressed like that!” he warns, pointing at her clothes.

Her mouth opens in disbelief. “I will wear whatever I want, wherever I want!” she retorts sharply.

“This isn’t Paris! People will talk...”

“Then let them talk,” she sneers, returning her attention to her work. _Ha! What’s a few villagers talking? I used to have the whole of Paris and Versailles gossiping behind my back,_ she thinks to herself.

“Speaking of the village... I’ve spoken to Fabian, he’s heard from Cesar that a woman traveling with her child knocked on the inn’s doors yesterday, looking for shelter. She escaped a nasty situation, if you know what I mean.”

She pauses, resting on the handle of her fork. “Oh. The guest house is safer than the inn. If her husband is after her, that’s where he’d go look first. We should take her in.”

He nods. “At least we agree on that. I told Fabian the house would be ready at the end of the day. Cesar isn’t pleased we’re taking away a client, however I’m sure he’d prefer to not be involved in a lovers’ quarrel.”

“Yes, the poor guy wouldn't know how to defend himself, let alone a woman and her child,” she chuckles. “I’ll prepare the beds as soon as I’m done here.”

“Are you going to put a dress on too?”

“No, I won’t,” she says, simpering.

“I don’t even know why I asked...” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

* * *

Élise is standing by the front door as the carriage rolls into the yard. Arno is the first to step out of the carriage, holding out a hand. The hand of a woman takes it.

In her thirties, her wavy jet black hair is covered by a large decorated hat, and the delicate fabric of her dress hangs and flows about her slender figure as she steps out of the carriage, followed by her young son. She pays the carriage driver, and after Arno unloads their only trunk, the carriage rolls down the path towards the main road.

Élise can hear them talk as they approach the house, but she can’t make out the words they are saying. She can’t help but feel a pinch of jealousy and animosity towards their guest. _What’s wrong with you?_ she scolds herself. _Yes, she’s a beautiful woman, obviously rich. But money can’t buy you happiness. And you are happy, aren’t you?_

“Élise, this is Madame Durand, and her son, Luca. Madame, Luca, this is my wife, Élise,” Arno says, dropping the heavy trunk on the ground.

Élise collects herself and forces a smile. “Welcome to our humble home, Madame,” she says kindly.

The woman stares at Élise for a moment, sizing her up: her wild red hair barely tamed in a braid, her plain straw hat, her infant baby in a sling, her dirty linen chemise worn over mens’ breeches, and her bare feet. With a smirk, she extends a hand, which Élise takes hesitantly. “Call me Paula. I can never thank you enough for offering us shelter and protection. We won't stay long, we just need a bit of rest before pursuing our journey to the coast.”

“You can stay as long as you need, Paula,” Arno says, with a warm smile.

“How old is your baby? And what is her name?” Paula asks Élise, raising an eyebrow. “She can’t be very old!”

Everything in the woman’s attitude, from her wry smile to the way she carries herself, is unsettling Élise. “Her.. her name is Julie, and she is... five weeks old,” she stammers.

“A fresh new mother! How precious,” Paula says, clasping her hands together. “They grow up so fast. My Luca turned 7 just a few months ago. I have to say, your husband is a real gentleman. You are very lucky to have him,” she adds, touching Arno’s arm.

Élise flinches. “He's a blessing, for sure,” she says more dryly than she intended. _Remember, she is your guest, you need to be polite_ , she reprimands herself.

“Shall we show you to your house?” Arno says, picking up the trunk and motioning with his head.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Paula nods, taking her son’s hand.


	15. Trust Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dorianelise for the prompt! :-)

**24 May 1795**

Walking down the path towards the guest house, Élise carries a basket filled with bread, preserves, dried sausages, and a gourd of water.

“I hope our guests had a good night. Wouldn’t want them not enjoying their stay,” she says, as if talking to herself. Julie is swaddled and strapped on her chest as usual, and she is responding to Élise’s voice with little coos, making Élise smile. “You’re listening to everything mama is saying, aren’t you Bunny?”

Arno paid attention to all possible details when transforming the shed, ensuring the guest house would be safe, cozy, and warm come winter. The walls of the shed have been repainted and isolated, the windows and frames have been replaced. The roof has been patched, and new slate tiles have been laid. Inside, the house is furnished with two small beds, a small table with two chairs, and a small closet. A small fireplace and chimney have been built, in anticipation of the colder months.

“And here we are,” Élise announces as she reaches the solid wood door. She puts the basket down and gently knocks on the door. Their guest, Paula, opens.

“Good morning,” Élise says cheerfully with a large grin. She still feels the same antipathy towards Paula as the day before, but she is doing everything in her power to hide it. _Forcing a smile, acting like my world isn’t falling apart, isn’t it what I’ve been doing all my life?_ she reasons herself. She hasn’t spoken to Arno about her apprehensions, convinced he’d dismiss them. Something about her was rubbing her the wrong way, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Good morning,” Paula replies, returning her smile. Her lips curl in a smirk at the sight of Élise’s clothes. She is still wearing Arno’s breeches, her chemise is loosely tucked, and a short waistcoat borrowed from Clara is covering her stay. Her wild hair is in a braid, and simple leather clogs are covering her feet.

“I brought you breakfast,” Élise says, picking up the basket from the ground. “Bread, preserves, that sort of thing. And a gourd of water from the well.”

“How lovely! Come in,” Paula says, stepping aside to let Élise in.

“Hello Luca,” Élise greets the boy as she puts the basket on the table.

“Hello,” he replies with a shy smile. He is sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, eyeing the content of the basket as Élise empties it on the table.

“Thank you for offering us shelter. We’ll be safe and comfortable here,” Paula says, inspecting the food on the table, and nodding approvingly.

“Not so long ago, Arno and I had to escape a threatening situation, and complete strangers invited us into their home,” Élise confides, a faint smile on her lips as she reminisces about their first night in Sisteron, and the Lacoste’s generosity. “Offering a safe haven to someone in need is the least we can do to repay the favors we have received when we were in need ourselves.”

“I understood from your husband this house was recently converted from an abandoned shed? Excellent work,” Paula says, looking around.

Élise nods. “He was helped by the neighbor’s youngest son, they worked tirelessly for weeks. I have to say, I’m impressed myself. I was still lying-in after giving birth while they worked, I received the grand tour just a few days ago!”

Paula cocks her head to the side, looking at Élise with a wry smile. “You’re recently back at work? Isn’t it hard to care for a baby and work on a farm at the same time?”

“It is incredibly difficult, and I’m exhausted, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Élise retorts, simpering.

“You don’t know any other way, I assume...” Paula snickers.

Élise takes a deep breath, each of Paula’s remarks fueling her impatience. She hooks the basket over her arm. “I should go back to work. You are free to come sit in the garden, and should you need anything, do not hesitate to let me or Arno know. And Luca is cordially invited to come and play with the goats if he wants to.”

Paula nods, her lips still curled in the same wry smile. “Thank you. I’m sure he would love that. May I ask you something?” she asks as Élise opens the door of the house. “Why were you walking around barefoot yesterday? Can’t you afford shoes?”

“It keeps me grounded,” Élise replies, unflustered. “So I don’t lose track of what is really important in life.” She steps outside, and then turns to face Paula, glaring at her. “Don’t assume anything about me,” she says firmly. “You don’t know me…”

* * *

Later that morning, Arno is hurriedly finishing cleaning the goats’ stalls. The goats have been milked, and they have been led to their enclosure for the day. The milk still needs to be decanted from the pails into the milk cans, and brought to the dairyman in the village -- and today is his turn.

“Your wife told me Luca could come and play with the goats,” Paula calls from the doorway. She’s holding her son in front of her, both hands on his shoulders.

Arno turns his head towards the door, smiling warmly. “Of course! And maybe he’d want to help me? Can you carry a pail without spilling one drop of milk?” he asks the boy.

“Yes, I can do that!” Luca nods with enthusiasm.

“Then take this one here, and bring it next to the others over there,” Arno says, pointing at the pail next to him, and then at the milk cans. The boy runs to Arno, and seizes the handle of the pail with both hands. “Be careful!” Arno warns. “We don’t want to lose any milk! When you’re done, we’ll go see the goats in their enclosure outside and you can play with the kids.” With a nod, Luca carefully carries the pail to the other side of the barn, his tongue sticking out as he concentrates on his task.

Paula chuckles, smiling proudly at her son. “You’re making him very happy. A boy his age should be playing and discovering, not sitting in a carriage all day long.” She steps towards the stalls, partially closing the distance between her and Arno. “I’m thankful fate brought us here,” she continues, her gaze fixed on him. “We couldn’t ask for a better place to rest away from danger, before we set off for the last leg of our journey. And I couldn’t ask for a kindest man to be a friend to my Luca. You’re the father he should have had. Your daughter and your future children are very lucky.”

“You are most welcome,” Arno says, blushing slightly.

“Is it time to go see the goats outside?” Luca interrupts, shifting from one foot to the other in excitement.

“You’re done already? And you didn’t spill anything? Good boy. Shall we?” he asks, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Your Élise is very lucky, too,” Paula mumbles under her breath, barely loud enough for Arno to hear her words. He flinches, before turning his head, a faint smile on his lips.

* * *

**27 May 1795**

The days that follow, Élise settles into a new routine, preparing breakfast for herself and Arno, but also for their guests, and bringing them a filled basket every morning. She set her animosity aside, and even invited Paula for tea inside the house one afternoon. She learned that their guest was married to a man who has seen his fortune disappear into thin air following the Revolution, and who became increasingly violent towards her as the years had passed, unable to cope with the hardship of his new life. Paula drew the line when he turned his violence towards their son. She used all the money she had stashed in secret to buy clothes for her son and herself, and pay a carriage driver to take them to the West coast, to be with the rest of her family and rebuild her life away from pain and violence.

During the day, Luca is either following Arno and helping as best he can with small tasks, or running around and playing with the goats, Brioche, or Mademoiselle Moustache. In the nurturing environment of the farm, and with Arno’s care and encouragements, he is finally allowed to simply be a boy his age.

That day, Arno is in the training room, working out his left arm with various exercises, under the captivated eyes of Luca. Now that Élise is back at work, Arno enjoys a little bit more free time. His broken collarbone injury is occasionally bothering him, and he’s hoping reinforcing his shoulders and arms will help relieve the strain.

“There you are, Luca! I was looking all over for you!” Paula calls from the door.

“I’m sorry Mother,” her son answers, contrite.

Arno lets go of the bars that are hanging from the ceiling, letting himself fall to the ground fluently. “He’s been spending the day with me, don’t worry. Don’t be mad at him,” he says, smiling warmly at the boy.

She rests her hands on her son’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Considering our situation, I don’t like to lose sight of him. I need to know where he is at all times.”

Arno nods. “I completely understand.”

“Can I go play with Brioche in the yard?” Luca asks, looking at both Arno and his mother with hopeful eyes.

“Yes, you have my permission,” Arno replies.

“And mine too,” Paula says. The boy rushes out of the room, calling Brioche to come and play.

Paula looks around the room, taking few steps, smiling appreciatively. “This is quite a room you have here, it’s rather… unexpected.”

“Élise and I grew up learning essential fighting skills from a young age. It’s only normal we keep sharpening those skills. We never know when we’ll need them.”

She chuckles. “My my, there is indeed more to both of you than meets the eye. She warned me about that,” she adds with a smirk.

He frowns in surprise. “Did she?”

She comes closer, staring into his eyes. “I envy her. You are kind, hardworking, and a wonderful father. I can tell by the way you interact with Luca. You’re not like the man with a heart of stone I married.”

“Don’t dwell on the past. It wasn’t your mistake. A better life is around the corner for you,” he says, holding her gaze, while putting his shirt back on, then buttoning it.

She steps closer yet, biting her lip. “A man like you must have… needs… And I know how it’s like after giving birth, the last thing on your mind is sharing a bed with your husband…”

She clutches the sides of his shirt to unbutton it, but he puts his hands on hers to stop her.

“What happens in our bedroom is none of your business, I’m afraid,” he says calmly but firmly.

She chuckles. “No one has to know, it will be our little secret…”

Freeing her hands, she grabs his shirt collar, pulling him closer, forcefully pressing her lips on his. He groans in protest, but her grip on his shirt is strong, and he struggles to push her away and tear his lips from hers.

From the doorway, Élise has heard everything, she has seen everything, her worse fears and apprehensions materializing right before her eyes. She was bringing Luca to his mother after the child scraped his knee running after Brioche in the yard. Furious and overwhelmed by anger and confusion, she swiftly takes a pistol from the wall, walking in long strides and pointing the pistol barrel at them.

“Get away from my husband immediately,” she growls, holding the pistol with one hand, and keeping Luca behind her with the other, making sure he wouldn’t get in the way, or get himself injured.

Arno holds his hands in front of him. “Élise, calm down, it’s not what you think!”

“Shut up, Arno,” she barks, cocking her pistol. “You saw how I shot a man in the jaw before, one more word and you’re next!” Strapped on Élise’s chest, Julie whimpers and fusses, but Élise ignores her.

“Waving a pistol while holding your infant in your arms, what kind of mother are you?” Paula snickers, standing triumphantly with her arms crossed over her chest.

Élise takes a few more steps, further closing the distance between her and Paula, the pistol pointed at her forehead. “The kind of mother who _doesn’t_ go after other women’s husbands,” she sneers. “I’m sparing your life because I grew up without a mother. My heart is aching for your son, and I don’t wish him the same misery. Now pack your belongings, and vacate our property immediately before I change my mind about killing you.”

“I need to arrange for a carriage…” Paula replied, ignoring Élise’s deadly stare.

“I don’t care if you have to carry everything yourself back to the village. But you are not staying here,” Élise orders in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Élise…”

“Shut. Up.” she hisses.

Paula nods. “Come, Luca. We have to go,” she says hurriedly, as she takes her son’s hand in hers.

“Goodbye, Arno,” Luca says, waving goodbye.

Alone with Arno in the room, Élise is pacing around, seething and chewing at her lower lip. Julie is crying loudly, but Élise doesn’t seem to notice. “How could you? HOW COULD YOU?” she shouts, tears of rage rolling down her cheeks.

“Élise, listen to me. It’s not what you think…” Arno says as calmly as possible, keeping an eye on the loaded pistol she is still waving around her.

“You kissed her! And if I wouldn’t have caught you, God knows what else you would have done…” she cries, her fingers tightening on the trigger.

“I didn’t kiss her! She kissed me!”

Her mouth hangs open in disbelief. “You’re telling me you couldn’t defend yourself from a woman?” she scoffs. “You’re telling me, Arno Victor Dorian, that you weren’t strong enough to push her away before her lips were on yours?”

“She caught me off-guard!” he attempts to explain, shouting over Julie’s deafening cries.

“ _Do not lie to me_ ,” she snaps. “I saw everything. I heard everything. You could have pushed her away the moment she tried unbutton your shirt. But you didn’t.”

“Élise…” He tries to touch her arm, but she immediately recoils.

“ _Do not touch me_. Stay away from me and Julie. I don’t want to see you.” She turns around and walks out of the room, leaving Arno behind, stunned.

* * *

Élise runs as fast as she can carrying her wailing child, resisting the urge to cry out. She knocks on the door of the only place she can think of to get away from her own house and Arno. She couldn’t care less about Paula and her son, how they are going to carry their belongings -- and if Arno is going to help her. A tight knot forms in her stomach as she replays in her head the scene she witnessed in the training room.

Clara opens, covering her mouth with her hand in surprise, not expecting to find Élise in tears on her doorstep. “What happened?” she asks as she opens the door wide to let her in. “Come in, I just made some tea.”

With a grateful nod, Élise sits at the table, undoing the sling’s knot to free Julie and hold her in her arms to comfort her. “Shhhhh Julie Bunny,” she murmurs in Julie’s ear, fighting the tears that threaten to come back. “What’s wrong, why won’t you stop crying?”

After pouring a cup of tea for Élise and herself and setting the teapot on the table, Clara sits next to Élise, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Élise, my friend, are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks softly. She had never seen her so upset, from anger and pain, and it could only mean that something serious had happened.

Élise takes a deep breath, unable to bring herself to say it. “I… I caught Arno kissing another woman,” she says, covering her mouth to muffle a sob.

Clara shakes her head in disbelief. “What? I don’t believe you!”

“That woman who took shelter in our guest house,” Élise continues. “I knew it from the very first second she couldn’t be trusted. And he kissed her…”

“But that’s not like him to do such a thing!” Clara exclaims. _No, it’s impossible, not Arno -- not loving, caring, devoted Arno, this can’t be real,_ she thinks to herself.

“He’s a man, Clara,” Élise snorts. “Men are pigs. You bear their children, and while you are busy caring for them, they fool around with other women. Don’t ever get married, Clara. It’s not worth it.”

Clara shakes her head again. “It has to be a misunderstanding, I can’t believe he would do that to you.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Élise says, indignant. “I saw it with my own eyes! How she kissed him, and how he didn’t push her away immediately… He wanted to kiss her, I’m certain of that.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation...”

“What kind of explanation?” Élise retorts. “Bunny, please, stop crying…” she says impatiently.

“She feels how you’re upset you are,” Clara says, hoping her soft tone of voice would help ease Élise’s impatience. “Here, let me take her…” she says, reaching to take Julie from Élise’s arms into hers.

Relieved from her crying child, Élise sits back in her chair. “I never thought he’d do that to me, I trusted him, I should have known…” she rants, shaking her head and chewing at her lower lip.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Can I say here tonight? I don’t want to see him…”

“Stay as long as you need. You know our door is always open. Mother should be back from the village any time now.”

Gently swayed in Clara’s arms, Julie’s cries have stopped. “She’s stopped crying. How did you do that?” Élise says, smiling in amazement.

“She was sensing your tension, your pain. It was probably scaring her. You share a bond with Julie; whatever you feel, she feels it too,” Clara says, touching the baby’s cheeks with the tip of her finger, caressing it softly.

“What kind of mother am I if I’m scaring my own child?” Élise mutters, staring at the ceiling. “And since when are you an expert?” she adds with a chuckle, drying her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Don’t tell mother, but…” Clara looks around the room, making sure her brother wasn’t within earshot. “I’ve been helping Elena a few hours per day this week with house visits. I want to become a midwife,” she confides, smiling proudly.

“What? Don’t you want to get married and have children of your own?” Élise asks, a bewildered look on her face.

Clara chuckles. “Didn’t you just tell me it wasn’t worth it?”

“Yes, I believe I did! But you know I wasn’t really serious… Where does that come from?”

Clara looks down at Julie in her arms, who is quietly sucking on her thumb, all signs of distress having disappeared like magic. “Everyone expects me to become the perfect housewife surrounded by perfect children in our perfect house… but that’s not what I want. When you gave birth, it was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. I had a revelation. Helping a mother bring her child into the world, guiding her through her pain, caring for her and her baby, that’s what I want to do.”

Tears well in Élise’s eyes, tears of joy for her friend who has found her calling, and tears of pride for this courageous decision which goes against the path that had been laid for her. _And I know how liberating that feels_ , she thinks to herself. “Being a midwife means hard work and dedication, but you are smart, you are kind and caring, and you are braver than you think.”

“I’m still not as brave as you. I haven’t told Mother… I don’t know how to bring it up!”

“You’ll find an appropriate moment, I’m sure,” Élise says with a warm smile. Suddenly weary, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulder, she sighs loudly. “Do you mind if I go lie down? I need some time alone, to think...”

“Go on, you know where the room is,” Clara says, carefully transferring Julie to Élise’s open arms, careful not to wake her up or upset her. “I’ll bring diaper cloths and swaddling blankets for Julie in a moment.”

“Thank you. Come Julie Bunny, let’s go take a nap together. Mama needs to think…” she says, placing small tender kisses on the top of her baby’s head.

* * *

Arno locks the door of the guest house. Nothing has been stolen, and they left none of their belongings behind. The leftovers from the morning’s breakfast are still on the table. _Tomorrow, I’ll take care of that tomorrow, after I wake up from this nightmare_ , he thinks to himself.

The house is cold and empty without Élise and Julie. Nauseous, and his head pounding, he goes directly upstairs to their bedroom without eating.

Sitting at the side of the bed, he stares at the empty bassinet. He reaches to take one of Julie’s blankets in his hand.

He lets himself fall backwards on top of the bed, his head on Élise’s pillow, breathing in her perfume.

Staring at the ceiling, the same scene replays in his head -- Paula’s advances, the kiss, Élise.

An all too familiar pain settles in the pit of his stomach, the pain of rejection and injustice. _I didn’t want this kiss… or did I? Did I lead her on, did I ask for this?_ _Did I take too long to push her away?_ he wonders, doubting himself.

* * *

In bed, Élise is lying on her side, Julie lying next to her, sleeping peacefully after being fed.

“It looks like it’s only you and me against the world now, Bunny,” she murmurs, holding back her tears, and gently cajoling the baby’s head and cheeks. “Your father… your father betrayed us.”

She rolls to her back, staring at the ceiling. “I love your father, I really do, he is everything to me,” she continues. “But I can’t trust him anymore. I’m sorry, Bunny.”

* * *

**29 May 1795**

Two nights alone in their bed, two nights without Élise’s body next to his, two nights without Julie’s cries waking him up. But he hasn’t slept a wink. In a daze, he found refuge in his work on the farm, taking over Élise’s tasks on top of his own.

He knows where she must be lodging. There is only one place where she can be.

It had lasted long enough, he had to see her -- but first and foremost, he had to see Julie.

“Oh hello there, son,” Marcera greets him with a warm smile.

“Is Élise here? I need to speak to her.”

She nods. “She is. But I don’t know if she’s ready to talk.”

He can hear Julie cry, and his arms are aching to hold her and to comfort her.

“What do you want?” Élise barks, running to the door. She is staring at him with squinted eyes, her hands clenched in tights fists.

 _This is not going to be easy_ , he thinks to himself. “Can we talk about what happened? Calmly?” he attempts, knowing too well there is no chance for a calm discussion seeing how upset Élise is.

“What is there to talk about? I saw everything, and I’m not ready to forgive you. Leave me alone.”

“Can I at least see my daughter? She has nothing to do with our quarrel, and I can hear her cry....” His voice trails. He missed Élise greatly since she ran away, but his daughter is who he missed the most.

“ _Our_ daughter is constantly crying because of how upset I am. She’s crying because her father hurt her mother,” she snarls, standing in front of him, purposely blocking his view of Julie.  
“Élise, please. You can’t keep her away from me. She’s my child too.”

Still holding the door open, Marcera looks at Arno, then at Élise, her eyes telling her to at least let him see his daughter.

“Fine.” She picks up Julie from the basket she was lying in, and places her in his open arms. He breaks into a large grin as he cuddles his crying daughter, holding her tightly against his chest, gently swaying her to comfort her.

“Papa missed you, my Sweet Pea…” he murmurs, while lightly patting her back. “Shhhhhhhh papa is here, don’t worry.” In his arms, her cries gradually quiet down to a whimper.

“You saw her, now leave us alone…” Élise says, impatient to see him leave. She tries to take Julie from his arms, but he turns away.

“No, not before we talk about what happened. Not before you allow me to explain,” he demands, holding Julie out of her reach.

“Give me my child back,” she hisses. “I said I don’t want to talk to you.”

In his arms, Julie begins to cry again, and his heart breaks.

“You’re trying to make me suffer by keeping Julie away from me. Can’t you see she’s suffering too? I’m her father, she needs me!”

“Only if her father is worthy. Now, please go.”

Admitting defeat, he hugs his daughter one more time before handing her back to Élise, who is practically tearing Julie away from his arms, before slamming the door behind him.

“What do you think you are doing, child?” Marcera asks, shaking her head in disbelief after witnessing Élise’s behavior. “You can’t use your child as a weapon against her own father!”

“He betrayed my trust!” she retorts, swaying Julie in an attempt to calm her cries down, but her own loud voice was only making her cry more. “Of all people, he should know that’s the one thing I don’t take well, and yet…”

“Are you certain he betrayed you? You didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself!”

Élise groans in frustration. “For heaven's’ sake, I was there, I saw them kiss. I heard them talk. I heard that bitch tell him it would be their little secret…”

“Is this what _really_ happened? What you saw, what you heard, maybe it’s not what you think.”

“You’re defending him now? As a woman, I would expect you to stand by my side!”

“I’m standing by your child’s side, Élise,” Marcera retorts sharply, taking her by the shoulder, staring straight into her eyes. “You’re a mother now, stop behaving like a spoiled brat, and start putting your child’s interests before your own. Are you so blinded by your pain that you didn’t see how she stopped crying the moment he held her in his arms? She is craving his presence. She _needs_ him. You owe it to your daughter to give Arno a chance to explain what happened. And to forgive him. For her sake.”

Speechless, Élise holds Marcera’s gaze for a moment, as her words sink in. Did she let her pain get the better of her again? And Julie… She finally realizes the selfishness of her behavior the last few days, how she has been hurting Julie by keeping her away from her father.

“I’m so sorry Julie Bunny, I’m so sorry…” she says as she breaks down in loud sobs, holding her baby on her shoulder.

With an empathic smile, Marcera hugs both Élise and the baby. “I know I’m not your mother, Élise. But I couldn’t let you continue on like that, someone had to shake some sense into you” she says with a light chuckle.

Élise nods, her sobs gradually quieting down, along with Julie’s cries.

“Go talk to him,” Marcera says calmly, taking Julie into her arms. “Let him tell his side of the story, and then forgive him. Even if it’s hard, even if the truth turns out to be worse than you think -- although I sincerely doubt it’s the case. Do it. For Julie.”

Élise nods again, drying her eyes with her thumbs. She kisses Julie’s cheek before rushing outside to find Arno.

* * *

He found refuge in the only place he could think of -- the roof. He needed to think, he needed to digest this new rejection. With his back against the chimney, he has the most breathtaking view over the village and the river.

In his hand, an empty bottle of wine. He needed to numb the pain from having his child snatched from his arms, he needed to silence Élise’s voice in his head telling him he wasn’t worthy of seeing Julie, he needed to suppress the anger and the resentment he feels towards his wife for crossing another line.

 _What have I done to deserve this?_ he wonders. _Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And Julie shouldn’t be suffering because of us. She’s just a baby, she didn’t ask for this. I will not give in. I will not let you hurt our child like that._

“Arno!”

Élise’s voice calling his name interrupts his ruminations.

“Where’s Julie?” he asks, noticing her empty arms. _I don’t want to see you, Élise. I just want to see Julie_.

“Marcera is watching her. We need to talk.”

“Oh, do we now? Am I going to be forced to listen to your monologue, or are you actually going to let me say a word?” _Do not give in, stand your ground._

“Arno, we can’t talk like this, shouting at each other. Come down please…”

 _Do not give in, Arno._ “Why don’t _you_ come _up_ for once?”

“I can’t climb up there!” she retorts, waving her hand.  
He shrugs, leaning back against the chimney, and crossing his ankles. “Then we won’t talk. It’s as simple as that.”

“Arno, please…” she begs, to no avail. He refuses to budge.

She stands by, arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently, hoping to wear him down.

“The kitchen window…” he says out of the blue.

“What?” She wasn’t sure what she heard. _Did he just tell me to climb on the kitchen window?_ she asks herself, incredulous.

“Climb on the sill, then grab the bar to pull yourself up. Put your left foot on that stone that’s coming out of the wall, then with your left hand, grab the other stone above the lintel, and pull yourself up again, grabbing that other stone over there, on the right.”

“I can’t do that…” she snorts. “I used to be agile and strong enough to climb. But then I got pregnant and fat,” she grumbles.  

 _Stand. Your. Ground._ “Then I’m afraid this conversation is over before it even started.”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “Alright, I’ll climb. But if I fall and hurt myself it will be _your_ fault!”

“You won’t if you simply do as I say!”

Taking a deep breath for courage, she climbs on the sill of the kitchen window, her eyes locating the stones he spoke about. She follows his instructions step by step.

“Now what?” she asks, after pulling herself up almost above the window.

Placing the empty bottle of wine on top of the chimney, he carefully moves down the slope of the roof to get a closer look. He had to admit, he was impressed she even attempted the climb -- and he was even more impressed by her speed. _Old habits die hard_ , he thinks to himself with a smirk.

“Don’t look down! You should now be able to place your right foot on the lintel. Grab the stone high up there with your left hand. When you’ve pulled yourself up, quickly grab the sill of the bedroom window to steady yourself.”

“Oh goodness, this is difficult. My arms feel like cotton, I’m so out of shape…” she moans, as she follows his directions.

“You’re doing great,” he says encouragingly. “Now, it’s a question of putting your left foot on the stone there -- no, not that one, the one that’s further away.”

She extends her leg sideways, pointing her foot, trying to put her toes on the stone, but it’s too far. “I can’t reach that one!” she says, shaking her head, trying to catch her breath.

“Yes, you can. I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I didn’t think you could. Trust me, Élise.”

“Trust you. Yeah, right,” she mumbles under her breath. Mustering all the energy and courage she can find within herself, she swings her leg as far as she can, and to her surprise, she manages to place her foot on the stone. “And now?” she asks, resisting the urge to look down.

He crouches down at the ledge of the roof, balancing on the balls of his feet. “There’s a stone within your reach, at about the same distance. But before you reach for it, spot where the other stones are, for your right hand and foot. Then in one smooth move…”

Her eyes scan the wall, finding the stones Arno was talking about. When she is certain of the sequence of movements she has to execute, she extends her arm to grab the furthest stone, pulling herself along the wall, swiftly seizing one of the previously spotted stones, and resting her foot on the other.

“Now, you should be able to simply grab the ledge of the roof with your left hand. And if you grab my hand…”

She places one foot on a high stone for leverage and grabs his extended hand. In one coordinated movement, she pushes herself with her foot, and he pulls her up on the roof. On her hands and knees, she carefully turns over to sit with her back against the slope, resting on her elbows. “I made it!” she says, beaming with excitement and pride.

He returns her smile. “You did. We can achieve anything when we work together.” He sits next to her, his smile quickly fading. “You wanted to talk?” he asks, a grim look on his face.

She nods. “Yes. I’m ready to listen to you, she replies, slightly taken aback by the seriousness of his tone.

“At last,’ he says, rolling his eyes.

“Drop the sarcasm, or I’m climbing down,” she says sharply.

He turns to face her, brow furrowed, his piercing dark eyes staring into hers. “I’m sorry, I’ve had enough of being treated unfairly. I’ve had enough of being at the receiving end of your wrath for something I didn’t do,” he rants, his bottled-up frustration turning into anger. “ _I did not kiss her_. _She kissed me_. And you might think I didn’t push her away fast enough, or hard enough, but believe me -- I didn’t want this kiss to happen, and it couldn’t end soon enough.”

“I saw you two talking, and then she reached for your shirt…”

“I thought I had been clear when I said our love life was none of her business. That was my only mistake. I underestimated her, and she caught me by surprise.”

She looks away, staring at her feet. “She is a beautiful woman, tall and slender, and she wears fancy clothes, whereas me…”

“What are you insinuating? That I could fall for someone else because they wear fancier clothes?” he scoffs. “You know me better than that, Élise. I beg of you, listen to me.” She slowly turns her head to face him, her green eyes weary and gloomy. “I love _you_. And I only want _you_ ,” he continues. “Back in September, I vowed to remain faithful to you until I die, and I meant every word if it. You are _my wife_.”

“Sometimes I wonder why...” she murmurs with a shrug.

“Are you doubting my love for you? Haven’t I done enough to prove it to you?”

“You have…” she admits, nodding.

“Then why aren’t you trusting me, why don’t you believe me? Does this have anything to do with your insecurity about your body?”

She sits with her arms around her knees, staring in front of her. “To see you with another woman, barely a month after I gave birth… the level of pain this betrayal caused me...” She closes her eyes, trying to hold back her tears.

“I can only imagine how much pain you were in at that moment. But I swear, I never meant for this kiss to happen, and I never meant to hurt you.” He pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “Speaking of pain, we’ve talked a lot about yours, but what about mine? Not allowing me to see Julie was awfully cruel of you. I didn’t deserve to be punished like that, and she certainly didn’t deserve to be torn away from my arms. I love her, she's my daughter. She has nothing to do with us fighting, and she should never have to suffer because of it.”

His words are hitting her like a punch in the stomach, but she knows he is right. She ignored his pleas, she ignored her own daughter’s cries.

“I’m sorry, Arno. I let myself be blinded by rage and pain again. I shouldn’t have kept Julie from you, I shouldn’t have used her as a mean to hurt you...” she says, swallowing sobs.

His first reaction is to wrap his arm around her shoulder and hug her tightly against him, and forgive her for everything, like he always does, but there is one thing he needs to get off his chest before he allows his heart to melt. _Don’t give in, stand your ground_ , he repeats like a mantra. “Élise, I’m warning you, and you better be listening: if you ever use one of the children again as a mean to attain revenge, either on me or anyone else, I swear to God and on the head of our fathers, it's over. I will not tolerate this, it that understood?” There is no anger in his voice, his tone is controlled, firm, and categorical.

Confused, she turns her head to meet his gaze. She has never seen such a severe look on his face, to the point of feeling frightened by it.

“Are you… threatening me with… divorce?” she stammers.

He shrugs. “The law is on my side, you’ve given me more than enough material today to have you declared unfit.”

“Wha…?” Her mouth hangs open in shock. She closes and opens her mouth several times, unable to find words to form a retort.

“There are a lot of things I will accept from you, but I will never let you harm the children. Is that clear?” he reiterates.

She never thought he’d go that far, she never imagined their quarrel would escalate to the point of being threatened with divorce. She nods slowly, the reality of the situation sinking in. She went too far -- way too far -- and one day, she will have to suffer the consequences of her selfish actions. “Yes, very clear. I will never do that again, I promise. Will you ever forgive me?” she asks in a low voice.

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I forgive you… this time. Maybe not the next. I’m forgiving you now because holding grudges can only destroy our marriage. And that’s the last thing I want to see happening. Why do you always let yourself be consumed by your emotions? All this pain and suffering because of a kiss that meant absolutely nothing?”

“Arno, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… I don’t know why, every emotion feels so raw. From one extreme to the other....”

At last, he gives in, slipping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, nuzzling her hair, as her arms cinch around his waist and she lets her head rest on his chest. They cling to each other for several long minutes, feeling each other’s heartbeats, reveling in their closeness. She is the first to break the silence. “Julie has been crying practically non-stop since I left the house. Day and night. She would calm down for short periods, when she wasn't in my arms, for example. As if I was making her upset. Have you noticed every time we're fighting or simply disagreeing, she starts to fuss and cry?”

“She doesn't like her parents to be fighting,” he says with a chuckle.

“She's a child of peace. She can't stand conflict. Only a wee baby, but she is already showing her personality.”

“We better never get involved in a fractions war again, fighting on opposite sides. That would be too much for her heart to bear.”

She laughs. “Oh dear, don't say that! Poor child. We promised they’d never pick a side, remember?”

He nods, placing soft kisses on the top of her head. “Speaking of our daughter, we should go pick her up. You have no idea how much I miss her…”

“I know you do. And my breasts are telling me it’s time to feed her,” she says with a smile. “She must be screaming by now. However…” She looks down to the ground, wincing. “Climbing up here was one thing, how do we get down?”

“Just follow me!”

Getting up to his feet, he effortlessly climbs down, jumping off the last bit, landing almost silently on his feet.

Scooting to the ledge, she turns around, and tries to repeat her previous steps in reverse. She is making good progress, until she makes a mistake, and finds herself unable to neither go back, nor advance further. “Uh, and now? I can't reach back, I’m stuck, I can't…”

He looks up, scanning the wall in search of possible options. “Just let yourself fall, I'll catch you,” he ultimately says.

“Wait, no. This is too dangerous! There has to be another way…”

“Do you trust me?”

She pauses and sighs. “Yes, I do.”

“Then let go of the stones, and simply let yourself fall backwards. It's a fall of a few feet high, I'll be right here to catch you. I promise.”

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, her heart beating fast into her chest, she lets go of the stones, letting herself fall. As promised, he breaks her fall, his strong arms catching her, and then he gently lowers her to the ground.

“I told you I'd catch you,” he says with a smirk as he helps her to her feet.

“I'm sorry for ever doubting you. I’m sorry for not believing you. I’m sorry for hurting you, and for hurting Julie. I never meant to harm her...”

He takes her head between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, staring into her eyes. “I know.” He presses his lips on her forehead, as she locks her arms around his waist. “And there's only one woman in the whole world I want to kiss, and it's you.” Their lips meet softly in a tender and soothing kiss. “Let's bring our daughter home,” he says, brushing his lips with hers.


	16. Red-Letter Days (E)

**24 June 1795**

Less than a month had passed since their first serious quarrel. Their wounds have healed, but there was no doubt in their minds they would have to endure the scars for some time before they disappear completely. And while they tended to their wounds and mended their relationship, they welcomed summer in the Alps. Roses were blooming in the garden, vegetables were growing, and there was hay to be made.

“Hey, Arno, look! A haystack!” she would tease him as she cuts the high grass that would feed the animals in the winter months. And each time, he would roll his eyes at her while pitch forking the cut hay into the cart. They gladly received help from neighbors and fellow citizens, rewarding them as evening came with a humble feast, filling the house with warmth and laughter.

And when the house is quiet and the baby is asleep, they would sit in the garden or on the front door step, his arm wrapped around her back and her head on his shoulder, sharing a bottle of wine, discussing anything and everything, or simply listening to the sound of the cicadas and the wind in the pine trees, until it was time to get much needed sleep.

Today is Midsummer, St. John’s Day, and Élise is baking cakes to sell during the day-long festivities. She’s humming a melody while Julie is clumsily shaking a rattle, cooing and smiling in her Moses basket. They both startle as they hear the front door opening and closing.

“Good morning, Clara!” Élise greets as her friend sits at the table, shoulders slumped and obviously upset. “How… are you? What’s going on?” she asks, frowning.

“I told mother…” Clara sniffles in a low voice.

After setting her mixing bowl aside, Élise picks Julie up from her basket and sits at the table with the baby on her lap. “And I suppose she didn’t take it well?”

Clara shakes her head. “She was shouting at me. Something about making a lot of sacrifices to send me to a good school, and wasting it all away… I tried to explain, I tried to make her understand…” she says, breaking down in sobs.

“My poor Clara,” Élise says softly, putting her hand on her shoulder.

“It’s hard! To go against what everyone expects of you, to remain strong…”

“I know it is. Believe me, I _know_ how that feels…” Élise confides, a nostalgic smile on her lips. _Oh Clara, if you only knew_ , she thinks to herself.

“What do you mean?” Clara asks, a confused look in her teary eyes.

“We’ve known each other for several months, I suppose I can trust you, and not reveal any of this to anyone? It’s is important, Clara. Promise me,” she insists, staring gravely into Clara’s eyes.

Clara frowns. “Of course. You have my word.”

She takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Where to start… Do you know the Knights Templars?”

“Well, yes,” Clara says, nodding. “Everyone has heard of them. There’s a temple in Gap, or so I’ve heard. But what do they have to do with you?”

Élise flinches upon hearing about the presence of Templar quarters in a neighboring town. _I better stay away from them…_ “Clara, I am a member of the Templar Order,” she begins solemnly. “And it was my destiny to become Grand Master of the French Templars after my father.”

Clara listens attentively as Élise goes on to explain who her father was, the education she received growing up, the machinations that lead to his murder, and how she became their target when she tried to present herself as their new leader, following into father’s footsteps.

“But after we defeated the one who had proclaimed himself the leader, after we avenged my father’s death, instead of taking the lead of the French Templars… I fell pregnant,” she added with a chagrined smile. _I was supposed to die, too. But instead, I made a baby._ ”When I found out, I kept thinking about my parents, and how disappointed in me they would be for becoming a wife and a mother, instead of dedicating my entire life to rebuild this country as I was supposed to do.”

She looks down at the Julie on her lap, smiling back at the baby’s toothless smile as her tiny hands grip her thumbs. “I never asked to become Grand Master, I was born into this life, and I was conditioned to believe this was the only possible outcome for me. It took me months to find some kind of peace. Maybe this carefully laid out path wasn’t the one I was supposed to take after all. Maybe there is another destiny ahead of me.”

Clara dries her tears with a handkerchief she drew from her pocket. “I had no idea. I never thought…” she says, shaking her head with an air of incredulity. “You know, it’s quite remarkable how our lives have similarities, while being complete opposites,” she muses. “You had a duty, and you chose to put it aside to have a family. I could have had a family, but I’m choosing a vocation instead.”

Élise chuckles. “I didn’t exactly _choose_ , but maybe I did without realizing it.”

“And I promise, I will not tell anyone. I don’t want to cause you, or Arno, or little Julie, any harm.”

“I know they’ll come after me eventually, I know we can never be completely safe,” Élise confides with a weary sigh. “But in the meantime, we’ll enjoy this peaceful life to the fullest, and marvel at this little baby as she grows up,” she adds, tickling the baby’s tummy.

Clara leans closer, looking tenderly at Julie as she coos. “There is no shame in becoming a mother. You are giving life, the most precious gift.”

“And I understand why you want to be part of it. Clara, if becoming a midwife is really what you want, then go for it. Be the best midwife you can be, make your parents, and most of all, make _yourself_ proud. Your mother, she’ll come around. You know how she is. A bit rough around the edges, but she loves you with all her heart.”

Clara nods, smiling thanks to her newly found confidence. “I should go, Elena will be waiting for me,” she says as she abruptly gets off her chair. “At least now I can openly say where I’m going, or where I’ve been. Keeping it a secret was driving me insane!”

“Keeping secrets are the worse! Go, and be at peace with your choice. Will I see you at the festivities later?” Élise asks, walking her to the door with Julie cradled in her arms, adorably sucking her thumb as she frequently does.  
“Yes, after dinner. I wouldn’t miss the bonfire for the world! And I want to taste one of your cakes!” Clara says, hugging Élise.

“If there is any left by then! Take care, my friend,” Élise says as she plants a kiss on Clara’s cheek.  

* * *

The town’s largest park is bustling with activity. There is music, the children are playing and causing all sorts of mischief. Merchants have erected tables and canopied tents on the lawn, and they are eagerly hoping to sell their wares, while the more humble villagers are hoping to make a few livres selling their homemade goods.

Arno finds Élise chatting with a fellow mother of a young baby, holding and swaying Julie in her arms. She looked ravishing and he felt his heart skip a beat. “My two beautiful girls!” he exclaims as he approaches the table.

“Charmer! Here, take your daughter, I’ve had her all afternoon, it’s your turn now! She’s fed and all,” she says before handing him the baby and waving the woman goodbye.

“My Sweet Pea!!” he grins, covering her chubby cheeks with small kisses. “Wait, you’re wearing a dress?” he teases, looking at Élise as she cleans her table after selling the last piece of her cakes. She was wearing a light blue linen dress that accentuated the green of her eyes, a dress he recognized instantly. _The same you were wearing the day we found out you were pregnant_ , he recalls, looking down fondly at the baby in his arms. And like most women and girls present at the festivities, she had daisies delicately weaved in her braid, with red ringlets falling loosely at the nape of her neck.

“Don’t get me started! I just figured I’d have more success selling my cakes if I looked like an average villager and blended in. I can’t change my hair color, but I can at least change my clothes,” she explains casually.

“And was your plan a success?”

“All cakes sold,” she announces proudly. “It was a great opportunity to get to know our fellow citizens. I had a chat with our friend the dairyman. Apparently, he now considers us important enough to come by the farm and pick up the milk every day, instead of us having to bring it to him.”

 _My wife the business woman!_ “We are climbing up the social and business ladder, I see!” he says, sharing her pride. “All because of you. You look really pretty today, do you know that?”

She chuckles, her cheeks blushing slightly. “Do I? Come on, let’s get ourselves a good spot to sit down and eat. I heard there will be music and dancing before they light up the bonfire.”

Holding the large basket leather handles looped over her arm, she takes his hand, and they walk around the park, in search of a quiet location to spend the rest of the evening. They find the perfect spot under a tree, a little way away from the crowd. After laying a blanket over the grass, they sit down to eat the home baked goods they purchased, telling each other how their day went. She shares the latest village gossip, and they meet briefly Clara and the rest of her family as they are themselves looking for a good location to watch the celebrations.

After they left, Élise confides to Arno about Clara and her wish to become a midwife, and how her family disapproves of her choice.

“I told Clara about me, about being a Templar, and my destiny as Grand Master,” she admits casually.

“You did _what_?” he exclaims, letting out a frustrated groan. “Élise, we can’t have anyone know about our past…”

“I didn’t say anything about you and the Assassins,” she says defensively.

“I appreciate your discretion, but the fact remains: someone knows your true identity. And you know how news travels fast in a small village like Sisteron...”

“Clara gave me her word, and I trust her,” she reassures, putting her hand on his thigh.

“Alright, I suppose you know what you’re doing…” she mumbles.

“Don’t worry, my love.”  
As darkness falls, the music picks up and a large area is being cleared for dancing.

“May I have this dance with the most beautiful woman in the village, Madame?” he asks with a sheepish smile, holding his hand out as an invitation.

“I am flattered, Monsieur, and I would love to dance with you, but I’m afraid there’s a Baby Bunny in my arms…” she says with a large grin and a chuckle.

“Your point being, Madame?” He takes the baby from her arms, cradling her over his chest, and holding her firmly with his large arm. He then gets up, offering his hand once again. “We can still dance… the three of us!”

She starts laughing, shaking her head. “Monsieur is resourceful, I see!”

She accepts his invitation and they join the dance, her hair and her dress whirling and twirling as he leads her across the improvised dance floor. Soothed by the music and the swaying, the baby falls asleep in her father’s arms, and it’s then only the two of them dancing, staring into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed.

When the music quiets down and it’s time to light up the bonfire, they retreat to their spot a little way away, smiling and giggling.

“That was lovely, thank you for insisting, Monsieur!” she says as they settle back down on the blanket.

“I wasn’t going to allow you to refuse this dance, Madame!” In his arms, Julie stirs awake, squirming and fussing. “What is it Sweet Pea, do you need to be changed? Or you’re just hungry? Or both?”

They change her quickly and Élise puts Julie at her breast, finishing just in time to watch men lighting the bonfire.

He wraps his arm around Élise’s shoulder, pulling her close. Snuggled together, they watch the flames dance high in the sky.

“This is a change from Paris, isn’t it?” she comments, mesmerized by the blaze.

“A whole village gathered to have fun, sing and dance? Yes, that’s a huge change from dirty, dreary Paris. I certainly don’t regret leaving. And I don’t regret settling here.”

“Are you happy?” she asks after long pause, her eyes searching his gaze.

He nods, smiling, his handsome face glowing from the bright fire swirling into the air. “Yes, I am. I have you and Julie, and we’re building something here. What else could I ask for?”

“Another baby, perhaps? Or more money…”

“Yes, another baby as soon as possible would make me a very, very happy man. I cannot lie,” he admits, gently caressing the baby’s head as she suckles greedily at her mother’s breast. “More money… we’re well on our way to get there.”

“Soon, soon… Can I at least recover from giving birth to this one before we make another?” she protests with a laugh.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. He notices she’s shivering. “Are you cold?”

“A little, even being so close to the fire…”

They shift positions, and she comes to sit between his legs, her back resting against his chest and her head on his shoulder, while he leans against the tree, mimicking their favorite cuddling position by the fireplace in their home. He then pulls the blanket over their legs, and wraps his arms around her shoulders and her arms, holding both Élise and the baby tightly against his body.

“Hmmmmm. This is nice,” she says as she feels his warmth enveloping her little by little.

“I love you,” he murmurs, placing tender kisses on the top of her head, her red hair flaming against the firelight.

“I love you too,” she murmurs, smiling contentedly.

* * *

**27 July 1795**

The guest house of La Concorde is gradually gaining in popularity thanks to word of mouth, and they have the pleasure to welcome travelers for up to three nights per week. They come from all corners of France and beyond, some of them are migrating in search of a better life, and others are visiting relatives. They have the most interesting stories to tell about their travels or their home, and their lively chatter is a welcomed distraction for Élise.

Another welcomed distraction was their daily sparring. They had resumed his lessons the month before as she began to feel stronger.

She shudders upon entering the training room, memories from the deceitful kiss flooding her mind each time she steps through the door. _Forgive and forget_ , she reminds herself, chewing on her lip. In her basket, Julie is babbling and cooing. She gives her baby a soft kiss on the forehead before gently putting the basket down on the table.

“Are you ready?” he asks, flexing his arms and circling his wrist with his sword in hand.

She picks up her own sword from the wall, waving it to back and forth to warm up her arm. “I suppose I am!” she says, forcing a smile.

They get into position, and he immediately attacks, taking her by surprise. She manages to parry at the last moment, but her movements are clumsy and uncoordinated.

“I’m so rusty, Freddie would be screaming at me if he would see me right now,” she grumbles as Arno easily counters her retaliating move.

“Give yourself time! You’ve already made a lot of progress since you picked up your sword for the first time a few weeks ago. Although, I have to say, I am enjoying having the upper hand on you, and I will savor this moment for as long as I can,” he snickers, trying a surprise spinning move.

She groans in frustration, avoiding the tip of his sword from slicing her chemise by stepping aside at the very last second. “Friendly reminder that you currently have the upper hand thanks to all the efforts I put into training you and improving your skills this winter, and because I was forced into inactivity thanks to you getting me pregnant!!”

“Friendly reminder: we made this baby together!”

“A year ago today, yes…” She suddenly stops, dropping her sword on the floor. She takes a deep breath, her hands making fists on her hips, and her head hanging low.

He opens his mouth to make a snarky remark, but he changes his mind, as she was clearly upset. He gently approaches her, putting his hand on her cheek and delicately caressing it. She doesn’t push his hand away.

“We don’t have to continue. We can skip a day, I’m sure Freddie wouldn’t mind,” he says with a warm smile.

“I can’t concentrate today...“ she mumbles, looking away.

“A lot going on in that tormented mind of yours?” He had noticed her becoming more and more reserved the past few days, as if she was crawling back into her shell.

She nods. “Talking about skipping a day… Do you think we could pay someone to watch over the goats tomorrow, and go for a ride on horseback?” she asks, meeting his gaze with hopeful eyes. “I need to get away, I need to breathe, and I want you to come with me…”

He considers her proposal, then nods. “I suppose that can be arranged. We could leave after the morning milking and be back by the end of the afternoon. What about Julie?”

“I’ll carry her in the sling. She’s old enough to be on a horse, I’ll be careful, I promise! Can we? Please?” she begs, her lips pursed in a pout.

“If this helps take away the gloom in your eyes...” he says as he hugs her. _Anything to see you happy again, my love._

* * *

**28 July 1795**

Francis jumped up and down in excitement when Arno asked him to watch over the goats while they were away, immediately making a list of things he’d like to buy with the extra pocket money.

With Julie securely strapped on her back in the sling, Élise brings the heavy leather saddle bags to Arno. They are filled with water, blankets, extra diapers and clothes for Julie, and food for a picnic. The summer sun is already high in the sky, and there isn’t a cloud in sight.

“Today is going to be a very warm day, I think. Better bring extra water,” he comments as he throws the bags across the back of his horse, securing them to the saddle.

“Already packed!”

“Where do you want to go?”

“We could follow the Buëch river and explore going west, what do you think? We came from the North back in October…”

“Sounds like a plan. Are you ready Sweat Pea? We’re going on an adventure!” he says, tickling the baby’s neck, making her giggle.

Élise lets out a frustrated groan as she struggles to mount her horse, but she finally succeeds thanks to a gentle push from Arno. “I can’t even mount a horse without your help anymore, that’s how out of shape I am! What a difference a year makes...” she grumbles.

“You were simply off balance because of Julie on your back,” he says as he effortlessly and gracefully mounts his horse. “Ready?”

They lead their horses down a succession of roads and paths, through grass fields, pastures, and rows of olive trees, admiring the vivid colors, and breathing in the fresh air. Élise describes everything she sees to the baby, who responds randomly with oh’s and ah’s, and tugs at her mother’s hair or at her hat, much to Élise’s chagrin. As they leave the village behind them, they follow a trail along the river, and the horses splash in the shallow water close to the shore.

“This seems like a nice spot for a picnic, don’t you think?” Arno calls, pointing at a secluded area that looked like a small bay.  
“We can go sit on the large rocks over there, in the shade. The horses will appreciate the fresh water, they must be thirsty.”

“Is it me or Sisteron is much warmer than Paris in the summer?” he asks, dismounting his horse and standing by it.

She chuckles. “Can you imagine the stench on the streets if it was this warm?”

“Do you need help?” he asks after a long moment, noticing she wasn’t even attempting to dismount her horse.

“I’m ashamed to say it, but yes, I do…”

He helps her down from her horse, and after he detaches the saddle bags and hands them to Élise, he leads the horses back to the water to let them drink.

“And you, Mademoiselle, need to be changed!” he comments as he helps Élise unwrap Julie from the sling.

“The diapers are right there in this bag, don’t let me stop you!” she says, digging into the other bag for water and food for their picnic.

He carefully lays his daughter on the next large flat rock to change her diaper, gently tickling her tummy. He could never get enough of hearing her giggle, seeing her smile, or staring with amazement into her big brown eyes. “Who’s a good girl? You are!” he says as he’s lifting her into his arms and cradling her against his chest, before sitting next to Élise.

She smiles fondly, her heart melting at the sight of Arno grinning as he’s holding his daughter in his arms. Then her smile fades, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. “Today is a year ago that I should have died…” she says wistfully, breaking off a piece of bread. She brings it to her mouth, but she puts it back on the rock. She can’t eat right now, not with the tight knot that has formed in her stomach.

“Élise, my love, why do you keep on saying that? You don’t know what was supposed to happen…”

“What if…” She hesitates. She remembers how she reacted the first time Arno told her about his visions: disbelief, incredulity, curiosity. “What if I tell you I _saw_ what was supposed to happen, time and time again, until… until we spent that last night together, and my vision suddenly changed?”

He frowns in surprise, and turns his gaze to Élise. “What do you mean?”

“Oh never mind, I can’t explain it…” she dismisses.

He puts his hand on hers, squeezing it gently. “Try me.”

She takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain what she saw, and what happened the year before. So many times she wanted to tell him, so many times she circled around the truth, but she wasn’t even able to fully comprehend what these visions came from and what they meant. “Call it premonition, call it what you want… I’ve always known fighting German was going to send me to my death. And if it meant my father would be avenged, and France would be safe, it didn’t matter to me. I was ready, it’s what I was born to do, and it was my duty. I was always the same vision: I was taking a hit from his sword, the lightning strike shooting through my body. And then, darkness. A few years ago, you asked me how I envisioned the future. I lied to you. I never saw any future. My death is all I could ever see. But that night, last year… I never told you this… You were holding me in your arms, and your hand was on my stomach… A simple coincidence, perhaps. But suddenly, my head was filled with images: you killing Germain and me witnessing it, and then our children, with their adorable little faces, running around the table. For the first time, I had a vision of the _future_ , instead of complete darkness.”

He moves closer to her, his arm coiling around her shoulder. “But you didn’t die. It was a close call at one point, but you didn't die.”

She smiles faintly, staring at the river quietly flowing in front of her. “I didn’t die, and a few weeks later, we found out I was pregnant. This can’t be a coincidence. I felt a force deep down inside me when we were fighting, but I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time. It was Julie, I know it was. She gave me life, she gave me strength,” she says, looking at the baby in his arms, quietly sucking her thumb.

“If your visions were indeed premonitions, will you finally stop accusing me of turning your life upside down by getting you pregnant? By the looks of it, it was meant to happen. Or we simply altered the course of History by spending this night together. And I have absolutely no regrets fucking you that night… and the morning after...” he purrs in her ear.

She chuckles, her smile widening. “I also don’t have any regrets. And yes, you are right, I have to stop blaming you for getting pregnant. I should be thanking you instead, for giving me a future. I’m sorry, Arno. Please forgive me.”

“All is forgiven.” he says with a warm smile.

“Gosh it’s warm!” she exclaims, suddenly feeling relieved from getting everything off her chest. “I’m dying to go for a swim, the water looks so inviting. Care to join me?”

“I’d love to, but I think it's better I stay right here to keep an eye on the horses and Julie, while you go have some fun. Plus, I’m starving!”

“Your loss!”

In quick motions she undresses and treads carefully on the rocks as she walks into the water, letting it envelop her nakedness. “This water is so much cleaner compared to the murky water of the Seine! It’s lovely!”

She swims a short distance away from the shore, clumsily at first. After a little while, muscle memory doing its trick, she moves around like water is her natural habitat, weightlessly floating on her back, letting the sun caress her skin.

From the shore, Arno can’t take his eyes off the red-haired river nymph emerging from the water, drops of water trickling over every curve and every edge of her body. He feels a stirring deep within that he has suppressed for far too long. _How long has it been since…? Better not think about it, Arno,_ he scolds himself.

“Do you want to come swim with mama, Baby Bunny?” she asks as she comes to stand in front of him, bending to pick up the baby from his arms.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” he worries, watching her undress Julie.

“I’ll stay in shallow waters, don’t worry _Monsieur le papa poule_!” she says, bouncing the baby in her arms as she returns into the water.

Sitting on his rock, chewing on a chunk of bread, he keeps a sharp eye on Élise as she holds Julie on her tummy, the baby moving her arms and legs making big splashes.

“She’s a natural!” Élise calls, taking the baby to slightly deeper waters, diving in and out several times.

As Julie’s giggles gradually turned into whimpers, Élise recognizes the signs of a hungry baby.

“You loved swimming with mama, didn’t you? We’ll have to do this more often! It was fun! But next time, papa will have to come with us!” she says as she tightly swaddles Julie in a warm blanket, before sitting on the rock and putting the fussy baby at her breast.

“She’s growing up so fast. She used to be so tiny…” he says, beaming at the baby nestled in her mother’s arms.

“All thanks to mama’s milk. And a lot of love. Even though it hasn’t always been easy…” she says, shuddering as she recalls the difficult first weeks that followed the birth of Julie.

“When she smiles… and when she laughs… that twinkle in her brown eyes…”

“She’s making our hearts melt, that’s for sure…”

He moves closer, carefully slipping his hand around Élise’s hip, and pressing his lips on her shoulder and her neck, but she gently shrugs him away.

“I’m sorry…” he says, retreating in defeat with a deep sigh.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I wouldn’t want to lead you on, I’m not ready…”

With a sheepish smile, he pokes her shoulder repeatedly. “It’s your freckles, you know how I love them, and with all the time you’ve spent outside, you have more than ever, I just can't help myself…”

She giggles, his finger tickling her. “Soon, I promise… All my freckles will be yours to kiss and fondle to your heart’s content.”

“Until then, I’ll be right here admiring your beauty from a distance” he says, leaning back on his hands, staring intently at her.

“Stop that, you’re making me blush!”

He doesn’t listen and continues take pleasure in looking at her, longing to caress her soft skin and feel her quiver under his touch. She had lost a part of the weight she had gained during her pregnancy, but she retained a certain softness he couldn’t stop adoring.

“You know, sometimes I miss your pregnant belly,” he says, out of the blue.

“You miss me being fat, is that it? And I had finally started to lose all that baby fat!”

He groans in frustration, shaking his head buried in his hands. “That’s not what I said! Stop putting words into my mouth!”

“Oh I know, it’s your not-so-subtle way of telling me you want another baby! There, burp this one while I put my clothes back on,” she teases as she hands him a replete and sleepy Julie.

“Hey, I was admiring the view, you know!” he retorts, gently patting the baby’s back.

“Men and their basic instincts…” she says with a wink and a cheeky smile as she gets dressed under his admiring gaze.

* * *

**29 July 1795**

She wakes up to Julie’s whimpers, her own whimpers quickly joining her daughter’s as painful cramps take her breath away.

“Oh no…” she grumbles, carefully pushing the covers away and sitting at the edge of the bed. Blood.

“No, no, no…” she repeats, wincing. She needs to check on Julie before her whimpers turn into loud cries that would inevitably wake up Arno, but the pain is making her dizzy and she has to take several deep breaths for the room to stop spinning around her.

Still groggy from sleep, she gets out of bed with the intention of cleaning herself a little before picking up Julie, but in her clumsiness she knocks a hairbrush down from the bedside table, the loud thumping noise startling Julie and causing her to start crying.

“Shit…” she curses under her breath, reaching for the basin filled with water.

Arno wakes up with a jolt from the sudden noise and agitation in the room. “My love? What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, go back to sleep!” she dismisses, turning her back to him.

“There’s no way I can sleep with Julie wailing like that…” he groans, pushing the covers away. “Why are the sheets covered in blood?” he suddenly asks in a deeply worried voice.

“Take a wild guess…” she says with a sigh.

“Are you injured, are you ill?”

She chuckles. “No, I’m not injured, nor am I ill…”

“Oh… Oh!” he says, slapping the palm of his hand on his forehead.

“Yes…” She finishes cleaning herself up as he changes Julie. She puts a clean chemise on, bundled rags between her legs, and sits down on the armchair by the window, a hand on her belly.

“At least this means you’re not pregnant,” he says in an attempt to uplift her spirits, as he brings her Julie who needed to be fed.

“Do you believe in immaculate conception?” she says with a snort. “But this certainly means I could get pregnant now…” She gazes at the baby in her arms, suckling hungrily. _Another baby? Eventually, yes. But not now._

He crouches next to the armchair, smoothing her hair and caressing her cheek. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thank you,” she says with a warm smile. “It just has to… pass. I’ll rest a little before cleaning up this mess…”

“I’ll clean it!”  
“No! That’s embarrassing…”

“Why is it embarrassing? It’s just blood.”

“It’s… women stuff!” she admits, blushing slightly.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. You’ll have to tell me what to do, though. I have no idea about that… stuff. Do you want me to prepare you a bath?”

“No, no bath. But some tea would be lovely, and if you could hand me the lavender oil bottle from the changing table…”

“Lavender used to make you so nauseous when you were pregnant!” he says, letting a few drops of oil on her open palm and helping her lift her chemise to rub the oil on her belly.

“Good times… or maybe not! It does help Julie sleep better at times. And now I’m hoping it’ll ease the pain...”

She then closes her eyes, letting the lavender scent work on her.

“I’ll get these to soak and I’ll be right back with some tea,” he says moments later, carrying the bunched up sheets in his arms.

“Marcera and Elena had warned me, but this is worse than I thought,” she says, her face contorted in a deep frown.

“Take it easy today. Go back to sleep, cuddle with Julie, write your journal, draw… I’ll take care of everything. I’ll even make the bed.”

She forces a smile. “Thank you. You’re adorable, do you know that?”

“I don’t like you being in pain. And we’re a team, remember?” he says with a large grin, blowing her a kiss.

* * *

**12 September 1795**

They woke up with a smile, a cuddle, and a kiss, wishing each other a happy first wedding anniversary before getting out of bed to go about their morning routine. It was going to be a warm late summer day, and there wasn’t any time to laze around, with Julie quickly demanding their attention. There were not only the animals to tend to, but also a lot of work on the fields, and in the vegetables garden, in preparation for the autumn and winter months.

Later in the afternoon, looking through the window while peeling carrots for dinner, Élise notices Arno splitting firewood in the yard, slamming his axe into the logs again and again. She blushes and bites her lip, unable to take her eyes off her shirtless husband, his lean yet well-muscled upper body glistening in sweat, pearls of sweat rolling down his toned and tanned abs and back. His breeches are hanging dangerously low around his hips, uncovering a line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband. Heart pounding, her eyes follow the trail of dark hair, her mind knowing too well where it leads. And deep in her core, she feels a familiar tingle that she readily recognizes, even after so long -- desire.

She wipes her hands on a dishcloth, then pours herself a glass of water that she drinks down. She fills the glass again, and heads outside.

“I brought you water, I figured you’d be thirsty working so hard,” she says as she approaches him. She can smell him, the musk of his sweat, and it’s making her dizzy.

He plants his axe firmly into the tree stump he’s been using to split the wood, then takes the glass from her extended hand. “And you are absolutely right! Thank you…”

She watches as he empties the glass and hands it back to her.

“Where’s Julie?” he asks, wiping his lips with his arm. He was looking at her, admiring how her usual pale skin gradually took the color of honey during the summer days, with a generous sprinkling of freckles adorning her face, her shoulders, her chest, and her arms, and how her hair is now stranded with sun-kissed strawberry blonde locks.  
“Down for a nap, it took me forever to get her to sleep. She’s so fussy and grumpy these days, it's exhausting…” she grumbles, as she gets closer to him, wedging herself between his body and the tree stump. “If those breeches were hanging any lower, you’d be showing your arse... Not that I’d mind…” she purrs, her hand gliding over his backside, before smacking it and squeezing it firmly.

His dark gaze locked on hers, he calmly takes the glass from her hand and puts it down on the tree stomp. She recognizes that look in his eyes, a look of lust, a look of carnal need. _Uh oh, I woke up the beast_ , she thinks to herself with a faint smile.

“You smacked my arse!” he says with a devilish smirk, sending shivers down her spine.

“And? You smack mine all the time, why can’t I do the same to you?” she retorts, holding his smoldering gaze.

“Fair enough, but you know I’ll retaliate…”

She wants to step back, but he quickly grabs her with both hands, pressing her body against his and squeezing her arse. With a moan, she slips her hands around his shoulders and behind his neck, savoring the feel of his sweaty skin, and their lips meet for a deep, open-mouth kiss. He smacks her butt cheeks a several times, hard enough to cause her to yelp and moan in their kiss. With a growl, he then spins her around, pushing her back against the wall of the barn, and pinning her there with his body. Gripping her hair with one hand, his lips assault her exposed neck, nipping and biting at her skin, while his other hand slips past the waistband and reaches between her legs.

She writhes and whimpers, taken aback by the brusqueness of his touch, as his rough fingers plunge in her folds. She tries to push his hand away, but his ardent desire for her is fueling his strength.  
“Arno, stop, please… STOP!” she cries out, pounding her fists on his shoulders.

“Why, what’s wrong?” he groans, panting, while pulling his hand out of her breeches.

“I… I changed my mind…” she stammers. At the same moment, she hears Julie crying from inside the house. “Julie needs me, I’m sorry…” she adds, pushing him away and freeing herself from his hold, then rushing back to attend to the baby.

 _Good going Arno, you bloody idiot._ He leans forward, resting his forehead against the wall and slamming his fist onto it, wondering what he could possibly have done to scare her away.

* * *

During dinner, they act like nothing happened, reluctant to discuss the obvious elephant in the room. He barely touched the bottle of Bordeaux she bought him, while her attention is focused on the fussy baby in her arms, speaking to her in a soft voice, cajoling her thin locks of red hair.

“Maybe she’s teething, I heard the women in the village say babies are fussy when their teeth are coming out,” she comments, gently patting the baby’s back to burp her. “I’ll have to ask Marcera for advice tomorrow, there has to be a way to calm her down.”

“Are you done eating?” he asks, ignoring her comment.

“Yes, I’m not really hungry…”

With a faint smile, he picks her plate from the table and brings it to the counter.

“I’ll go put her down to sleep,” she says as she gets off her chair. “Would you clear the table for me please?”

He nods, placing a soft kiss on the baby’s head as she rests on Élise’s shoulder, sucking on her fist with sleepy, teary eyes.

She joins him later in the garden, the bottle of wine standing on the small garden table, along with two glasses.

“Shall I pour a glass for you?” he asks with a tender smile, that smile she loves, that smile which makes her heart melt every time.

“I think I need it today,” she chuckles as she lets herself plop on the garden chair, and takes the glass from his hand.

“To one heck of a year… cheers!” he says, holding up his glass.

“And many, many more,” she says as she clinks her wine glass to his. “Goodness, time flies. It feels like it was just yesterday!” she adds with a nostalgic smile.

He moves his chair closer to hers, reaching to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Any regrets?”

She shakes her head. “None. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.”

He stares into her eyes, running his fingers through her hair. “You were so beautiful in your dress, and with the roses in your hair…”

“And you were quite handsome in your new suit! Couldn’t take my eyes off you…” she says with a cheeky smile.

“Madeleine and Freddie couldn’t keep it dry…” he says with a chuckle.

“And then we danced…” She takes his glass from his hands and puts both their glasses on the table, then gets off her chair. “Would you dance with me, my love?” she asks with her hand extended in an invitation.

He takes her hand, and she leads him to the middle of the garden, the tender scent of the late blooming roses enveloping them, reminiscent of the sweet perfume of the roses in her hair the year before.

He locks one hand around the small of her back, pulling her close, while he interlaces his fingers with hers and presses a kiss against her forehead.

Cheek to cheek, they move slowly to a silent melody, the muffled sound of their footsteps on the grass filling the quiet evening.

“Are we going to talk about what happened this afternoon?” he murmurs after a moment.

She stiffens in his arms. “What is there to talk about?” she asks, avoiding his gaze.

“Élise, don’t play this game with me.” Suddenly his finger are on her chin and he is turning her head, forcing her to look at him. “One moment, you were flirting and throwing yourself at me, and the next, you were running away.”

She lowers her eyes at his questioning gaze. “You scared me…” she admits in a low voice.

“Did I? I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you… What are you afraid of? Talk to me…” he insists, a pained look on his face.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt, I’m scared it won’t feel the same… And I’m terrified of getting pregnant again.” She raises a hand to his cheek, caressing it softly and lovingly, gazing into his dark eyes. “I’m ready, Arno. But this was too fast, too rough. I want you to make love to me, slowly, gently, tenderly… ” Her hand moves to the side of his head, her fingers threading in his hair, pulling him close for a kiss.

“Are you sure you are trusting me to be gentle?” he asks earnestly, breaking the kiss.

She shakes her head, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “No, I’m not, I know how you can be,” she sighs. “And I don’t trust you to stop on time either. I know you want another baby…”

“Let me prove you wrong…” He brings his hands around her back and they lean into each other, wrapping their arms around one another. “I want you…” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing hers.

“Then take me… Love me… ” she whispers, before closing the gap between their lips for a brazen kiss, pouring into it all the passion that months of yearning had created. They stand in the middle of the garden for long minutes, bodies pressed together, hands caressing, and mouths locked. What seems to be an eternity later, he tears his lips from hers, sweeps her off her feet and into his arms.

“Lighter than in April…” he observes, as he carries her back inside the house, pausing before crossing the threshold.

“But heavier than in September last year?” she snorts, her fingers tightly locked behind his neck.

“You were way too thin back then. And yet, you’re still light as a feather!”

Giggling like newlyweds, he carries her upstairs to their room, where he sets her gently on the ground. “And I didn’t hit your head, nor did I drop you…” he says proudly.

“Shhhh! We’ll have to be quiet, Julie is sleeping…” she whispers, resting a finger on his lips.

“I’d love to make you scream, but I’ll keep that for another day…” he purrs, as his hands reach for the buttons of her vest, and his lips find the crook of her neck.

In the late evening light, he undresses her languidly, kissing and caressing every inch of her body as he is uncovering it, so softly that she starts to shiver. With as much care as his desire allows, he undoes her braid, running his fingers through her hair and sweeping it over her shoulders, where it falls in a mass of red curls. His intense gaze burning into hers, he unties his cravat, tossing it onto the bed, before taking her wrists in his hands, bringing them to his lips.

“Are you going to tie me up?” she asks, swallowing hard, and a note of apprehension in her voice. “The last time you did, you were not exactly gentle…”

“You trusted me when I said I’d catch you, the other day. Can’t you trust me if I say I will not hurt you?” he counters, his gaze never leaving hers.

She takes a deep breath, smiling nervously. “I trust you,” she murmurs.

Still holding her wrists in his hands, he leads her to the bed, where she lies down. His eyes silently asking for her permission, he reaches for his cravat and loops the silk around her wrists to bind them. He then raises her hands above her head to tie them to a spindle of the headboard. “Is it too tight?” he asks with a frown, hovering over her. The fabric of his shirt brushes against her nipples, pulling instantly into tight, aching nubs, craving to be touched. She shakes her head, giving him a reassuring smile. Satisfied, he steps away from the bed, and she watches hungrily as he undresses at the same languid pace. She wants to run her fingers and her tongue over every line of his muscles, and she has to stop herself from letting out a moan as his thick cock springs free from his breeches. As he stands naked in front of her moments later, he reaches to pull the leather tie from his hair, letting it swing loose about his shoulders. Then, without a word, he takes his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly several times, holding her gaze. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp and she squirms, her legs parting instinctively, and she tugs lightly at her restraints. She was longing to have his cock inside her, she wanted to taste it and touch it.  

With a smirk, he opens a drawer and reaches in to grab another one of his cravats.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

He sits down next to her, holding his cravat folded in two in front of him. “I want you to let go, and abandon yourself completely.”

With a whimper and a faint smile, she nods. This was going to be a new experience, and she was both frightened and excited.

After brushing strands of hair away from her face, he carefully ties the blindfold over her closed eyes. “You can’t see anything, can you?“

She can feel his hot breath on her forehead, and the warmth of his body close to hers.

“We can stop at any time if it gets too much. Just say so,” he adds before softly kissing her lips.

Now bound and blindfolded, her mind can only wonder and wander, and she shivers in anticipation. She flinches and gasps when she feels the tickle of his hair and his beard, the feathery touch of his fingertips, and the softness of his lush lips on her body, his teeth grazing her skin and his tongue tasting it, travelling lazily from her jawline to the valley between her full breasts, down on her navel. She laments as he suddenly takes his hands and his mouth away, the absence of his touch making her even more conscious of her aching for him. She hears movement, the rustle of sheets, Arno letting out a low growl. Then, his lips are brushing against her inner thighs, his hands and arms circling around her hips, and a moan escapes her lips.

“Did I ever tell you I love your legs?” he says casually as his lips skim over her sensitive skin, the scent of her arousal filling his senses. _It’s been far, far too long_ , he thinks to himself.

“Because they are connected to my arse? Or because you can shove your cock between them?” she sasses, her breathing hitching when he nibbles at her flesh.

“Touché. Not only that, but also: they are long, and strong, and nicely rounded…” His lips leave a trail of kisses from her inner thigh to the crook of her knee, and back.

“My thighs are huge and flabby since I got pregnant, they look horrible! And my hips… Don't get me started on my hips...” she grumbles, writhing from the the prickly tickle of his beard on her inner thighs.

His lips stop their course. “If I hear you say one more depreciating comment about yourself…” he warns, taking a harder bite of her flesh.

“What are you going to do? Gag me?” she taunts.

Once more, she feels the void left by the absence of his touch, she hears the sound of movements around her, and the rustle of sheets. Her remaining senses are on alert. _Where is he? What is he going to do?_ she wonders.

“Do not tempt me…” he murmurs huskily in her ear, making her gasp in surprise, her heart beating hard in her chest. He runs the tip of his index finger on her plump bottom lip before pushing it delicately into her mouth. With a light chuckle, she nips playfully at his finger and sucks it gently. He pulls his finger out of her mouth and lets his hand glide from her jaw down to her chest, cupping and squeezing her breast.

“I want to touch you…” she whispers, tugging at her restraints, her mouth aimlessly searching for his in the dark.

“Not tonight. Tonight is about you…”

She whimpers as she feels his soft tongue on her sensitive nipple, teasing it and tracing circles around it, before taking it between his teeth and gently pulling at it. She parts her legs wide as his lips drag along her stomach, and she sucks in a breath as they finally make contact with her engorged folds. He nudges his tongue between them, causing her to arch her back. Holding her hips steady with both hands, he delves in relentlessly, lapping at her overflowing juices, and soon her moans grow louder and louder. He carefully slips a finger in her dripping entrance, then a second, slowly pumping in and out, as his lips latch on her clit, suckling gently. He can feel her flesh twitching, and it’s not long before her breathing becomes ragged and the delirious cascade of her orgasm sweeps through her. He watches with smug contentment as her cheeks flush and her body quivers, releasing the pent up tension.

“I think… I think you leaked milk…” he comments as he pulls his coated fingers out of her, licking them clean and wiping her juices from his lips and his beard, while she gradually returns to her senses, a blissful smile on her lips..

“Wha…? Oh… that’s awkward…” she stammers, her cheeks turning to a deeper crimson from embarrassment. “What are you doing?!” she exclaims, feeling his tongue running on one of her breasts and his lips suckling on her nipples, then moving to the other breast.

“Interesting… sweet…” he notes, smacking his lips.

“Stop! That milk is not for you!” she laughs, squirming and writhing under his mouth.

“Someone has to clean it!” he retorts, before hovering over her body and taking her mouth captive for a long deep kiss, the sweet taste of her milk and the rich taste her arousal lingering on his thrusting tongue.

“Are you ready?” he asks in a low voice, as he breaks the kiss. Her only answer is a moan; she was wet and throbbing, and she wanted him inside of her probably more than he wanted to plunge into her. “Tell me if I hurt you…” he adds, aligning the head of his cock at her entrance. With a growl, he slips inside her effortlessly, savoring her heated wetness around him, and she lets out a sigh that turns into a moan of pleasure, as she feels the delicious stretch of his cock buried to the hilt. He then begins thrusting into her at an achingly slow pace that he knew wouldn’t hurt her.

“I missed you…” he murmurs in her ear, nipping at her earlobe, his hand caressing her neck and gliding over her throat. She tries to speak, but only a gasped moan escapes her mouth. Deprived of sight and helplessly bound, unable to give and condemned to receive, every caress and every kiss is sending her arousal spiraling up and up, like a thousand hands and mouths taking over body.

“Do you know what I also missed?” he continues, his hands caressing her face, his finger tracing her lips, as he increases the pace and the depth of his thrusts. “How your soft little whimpers turn into soft little moans… and get louder and louder... And the sound of your breathing accelerating... “

As if it was a command, mesmerized by his raspy voice whispering in her ear, she whimpers and moans louder and louder with each of his movements, her breathing hitching, wanting him, needing him to thrust harder and deeper. She raises her legs around his waist like an invitation, offering herself to the deep pushes of his cock.

Pinning her down with the weight of his body, a hand curled around one of her hips, he picks up the pace a notch, rocking his hips against hers. “There are three sounds that you make that drive me crazy… When you laugh… When you say my name… When you moan…” he pants, his hot breath on her face making her shiver. “When you say my name and moan at the same time, now that… Say it… Say my name…” he commands, his hand swiftly moving to grip her jaw and hold her head straight.

“Ar… no…” she gasps and moans, biting hard on her lower lip to muffle the sound of her voice, afraid of waking up Julie.

“Louder…” he insists, still holding her jaw.

“Arno…” she cries, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.

“Louder!” he laments, feeling the pressure build in his groin, shuddering at the sound of her voice calling his name.

“Arno!” she wails, letting go of all inhibitions, filling the room with her loud throaty moans as the tidal wave of pleasure rises in her core -- and there was no stopping it.

In one swift move, he rips the blindfold off her head. “Come… Come for me, Élise… Look at me… Let me see your eyes…” he begs, searching for her gaze.

Through her fluttering eyelashes, her eyes still adjusting to the semi-darkness of the room, she catches a glimpse of his dark lusty eyes, and in an instant, she was gone, the rapturous pleasure of an intense orgasm overwhelming her.

Sitting back on his heels, he pulls out of her, stroking himself a few times, and with a loud growl, he spills his warm seed on her stomach and her breasts.

“Well done!” she teases, as their breathing eases and they come down from their release. “I see you improved your timing; next time, let’s work on your aim. I’m covered…”

“I did hold my promise to stop on time…” he protests, holding a finger in the air.

“And now I need to clean this mess you made!”

“You leaked again, by the way…” he says, pointing at the drops of milk dribbling down the slope of her breasts.

“This is _really_ embarrassing…” she whines, looking down at her oozing engorged breasts. _I’m amazed Julie is still sleeping, it’s definitely time to feed her!_ _Note to self: empty your breasts before you have sex. These leakages can’t be a coincidence..._

She is startled out of her musings by Arno’s warm and wet tongue running over her stomach and her breasts, licking her clean.

“That’s not exactly the cleaning I had in mind…” she chuckles, biting her lip as she meets his gaze. He winks at her, then continues his ministrations, cleaning the last drops that spilled in the curve of her neck and on her chin.

“But you’re all clean!” he retorts before his lips meet hers, his tongue darting into her greedy mouth, hungry for the taste of him.

He reaches behind her head to undo the knot of his cravat around the spindle of the headboard, and then he carefully unwraps her wrists. “Did I hurt you?” he asks before kissing the faint red marks the restraints left on her wrists.

She shakes her head, smiling reassuringly. “No, you didn’t… No pain, my love. Only pleasure.”

He lies next to her, staring into her green eyes and holding her hands in his, softly massaging her wrists with his thumbs. “Do you trust me now?”

She nods. “Yes, I do…”

“And now that the ice is broken…”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You had more than one round in mind?” she asks with a smirk.

He chuckles. “Tempting… No, I simply hope you won’t be afraid anymore.”

They cuddle in each other’s arms and they kiss softly, unhurriedly, bathing in the afterglow of passion.

“I love you. Happy anniversary,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and cradling her head in the crook of his neck. The year before, the night had ended in a blur of fear and panic. Tonight, as she lies nestled in his arms, she is only feeling the warmth of love in her heart and in her soul.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers, placing a delicate kiss on the top of her head and burying his nose in her red curls. 


	17. Oncoming Storm (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year ago, on January 17 2015, I posted the following on Tumblr: "I want an AU fic where Élise doesn’t die, and she’s barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, while Arno is tending to the goats. Am I going to have to write that one too myself, or…?"
> 
> Little did I know I would still be writing a year later.
> 
> To celebrate... here's the darkest chapter I've ever written. Please read the notes at the beginning for potential triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The content of this chapter has been churning in my head since the summer. Publishing it is a great relief.
> 
> However, some warnings are in order:
> 
> \- First of all: please don't hate ME. As I writer, I've decided to explore things I do not agree with the slightest.  
> \- This chapter is very dark. The darkest so far. But if you've been paying attention, especially to chapters 9, 11 and 15, you will know deep down this was bound to happen sooner or later.  
> \- This is just the beginning, obviously the following chapters will deal with the aftermath.
> 
> \- Potential triggers: attempted suicide, domestic violence, hint at abortion. 
> 
> Read at your own risks.

**9 November 1795**

One year had passed since they settled in Sisteron. One year since they started anew, complete strangers in a town miles away from Paris -- in more ways than just in terms of distance. The local language remains a struggle, and money is still tight, especially now that the number of guests has drastically decreased since the beginning of the colder and darker months. Nonetheless, little by little, their social network has increased, and they have weaved links with merchant and traders to guarantee their income. Fruits and vegetables from their garden have been harvested and preserved, and they were confident they wouldn’t go hungry this winter.

There were moments of doubts -- did they do the right thing? -- and moments where Paris was deeply missed, especially when thinking about the dear ones they left behind. “I wish Freddie would be here to see you,” Élise often says, marveling at her daughter. “Uncle Freddie loves you very much, I know he does.”

While autumns in Sisteron are generally pleasant, today the air was thick and heavy, promising a storm. Élise went to the village to buy warm clothes for Julie. The baby was quiet in her arms today, looking suspiciously at the world around her.

“I better learn to knit or sew very soon, she’s outgrowing everything I buy her,” Élise comments to a small group of women she knew well, with whom she stopped to converse on her way back home. Elena the midwife was among the group. _Without Clara_ , Élise observes. _She must have stayed home today._

“I can teach you! Come by anytime, I’ll be delighted to show you how to make a little shirt,” one woman offers.

“That would be very kind,” Élise says.

“You’re with child,” Elena blurts, interrupting the conversation. She was observing Élise intensely, as if she was looking for signs confirming her suspicions.

“Excuse me?” Élise says, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Tsk, tsk. I’ve been catching babies for more than 20 years, I know a pregnant woman when I see one. You’re pale, you look exhausted, and to be honest, you look like you’re fighting a wave of nausea at this very moment.”

The other women fall silent, waiting for Élise’s response, and all eyes are fastened on her.

Élise swallows hard, her cheeks turning to crimson. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, I’m NOT pregnant!” she hisses, staring into the midwife’s eyes. She was mustering all her energy to remain calm, but internally she was screaming. _I’m not pregnant! What a ludicrous idea! I can’t be pregnant!_

“I can come by later to examine you, if you want. Then you’ll be sure,” Elena offers, smiling kindly.

Élise is mortified at how this conversation is happening in front of everyone. _And that’s how rumors spread._ “Fine. FINE. I’ll be waiting for you at home…” she simpers, turning her heels and walking away as fast as she can, without saying goodbye.

* * *

“When was your first bleeding after childbirth?” Elena asks a few hours later, nonchalantly sipping her cup of tea.

Julie is sitting on her mother’s lap, babbling and cooing as she tries to grab everything within her reach. Élise barely manages to stop her at the last second from touching her hot cup of tea.

“Julie, _no_. Here, play with this instead,” she scolds mildly, handing her a simple snuggling doll, made from a square of fabric wrapped around a ball of yarn and tied with another piece of yarn. It was Julie’s favorite toy, and the baby bounces on her mother’s lap in delight, immediately bringing the toy to her mouth.

“End of July,” Élise continues. “It lasted for over a month, I thought I would never see the end of it!”

“Right, right. Perfectly normal,” Elena nods appreciatively, while making calculations in her head. “When did you bleed after that?”

“I… I didn’t…” Elise admits, avoiding Elena’s gaze by looking down at the baby.

Elena chuckles. “And you still believe you cannot possibly be with child?”

“I thought… I heard... I’m nursing… And we’ve been careful...” she stammers.

“Yes, as long as you’re nursing your baby, you’re protected a little. _A little_. However, your husband keeping it in his breeches is the best way not to make a baby. Did he force himself on you?”

“NO! Of course not! Why on Earth would you think my husband could do such a thing?” Élise exclaims, indignant.

“You wouldn’t be the first one. Men can get impatient after their wife gives birth…” Elena shrugs, before bringing her cup of tea to her lips.

Élise hasn’t touched her tea, the smell alone was making her nauseous. _No orange blossom tea for you anymore_ , she thinks to herself. _Is orange blossom going to be my trigger this time around? Psshit! You’re not pregnant, stop it!_

“No, my husband didn’t take me by force,” Élise reiterates, now staring squarely at the midwife. No, Arno would never take her by force, and she knows she was very lucky. She overheard horror stories… She shudders.

“Good, good. He didn’t seem to be that type of man anyway. Do you want me to examine you?”

Élise sighs, rolling her eyes. “Yes, let’s get this over with…”

Lifting the baby into her arms, she leads the midwife upstairs to the bedroom. After putting Julie down on a small rug to play, she lies on the bed, reluctantly pulling her skirts up to let the midwife examine her.

“High and soft…” Elena observes. “If you haven't bled since your bleedings returned, more than 2 months ago… To me, there’s no doubt, you are pregnant,” she concludes, pulling Élise’s skirts down.

 _You are pregnant_. The words are echoing in Élise’s head, and her heart is sinking. The news of this pregnancy are not hitting as hard as the first time, utter anger and shock making place for stunned realization. She covers her mouth to stifle a sob, tears pricking her eyes. _I don’t want to be pregnant, not now. It’s too soon..._

“Any nausea?” Elena’s voice startling her out of her thoughts.

She nods. “For at least two weeks now. I’m exhausted, and my breasts are really sore. I just thought it was something I ate, or I didn’t sleep enough, or it was from nursing... “Her voice is quivering, and her lips are trembling, but she swallows and fights her tears. “I don’t want another baby…” she finally confides in a low voice, feeling deeply ashamed for even hinting at wanting to terminate the pregnancy. She heard of methods -- potions, mixtures. _Arno wouldn’t even know about it_ … Arno. A tight knot forms in her stomach at the thought of how happy he will be to hear she is pregnant again. And how devastated he would be if would ever come to know she terminated it. _I can’t do this to him, I can’t..._

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” Elena says dryly, picking up on her hint. Women who had difficulty accepting the news of a pregnancy, she has seen so many, and each of their stories were different: too soon, too young, too late, too old. But she firmly believed they had to accept this gift they received from life, and come to terms with it. It wasn’t her place to play God.

Élise nods slowly, quiet tears now rolling down on her cheeks. “I know…”

“But you can be Clara’s first client!” Elena says cheerfully with a warm smile, trying to lift her spirits. “She’s a smart girl, she’s learning fast, and I believe she’s ready to take on her first follow-up. I’ll supervise her, of course. Would you like that?”

Élise nods and tries to compose herself, taking several deep breaths and drying her tears. She casts a quick look at Julie on the floor, who is pulling herself up on hands and knees, rocking back and forth before falling flat on her tummy. A faint smile appears on Élise’s lips. _Are you getting ready to crawl, Julie Bunny?_ “When is the baby due?” Élise suddenly asks.

“It’s difficult to say with irregular bleedings… June, perhaps?”

 _An early summer baby._ “Can I still nurse Julie even if I’m pregnant?”

Elena nods. “Yes, not a problem. And you can even feed both babies when the other is born.”

“Oh, right. That’s good to know.” Élise places her hands atop one another on her belly, staring at the ceiling and resisting the urge to cry out. _Barely a year after Julie… I can’t… I can’t do this…_

“Will you be alright? You’ll tell your husband I suppose?” Elena takes her hand, squeezing it gently. “I must run now. Have someone fetch us if you have any trouble.”

She walks towards the door, stopping briefly to pat Julie’s bottom and caress her head. Before crossing the doorway, she turns around. “Congratulations, Élise.”

Élise doesn’t reply. She lies on the bed still staring at the ceiling, tears now running freely, and her chest rising and falling with sobs.

“We’ve been careful,” she laments. “Haven’t we?”

And then she remembers.

* * *

**5 weeks earlier**

Two empty bottles of wine on the floor, hands caressing underneath clothing, tongues twisting in a deep passionate kiss, bodies pressing against one another. They were not sure how it all started -- a cozy conversation, a flirt, a yearning for intimacy that needed to be fulfilled? Then one thing led to another, and they were in each other’s arms, alcohol removing all inhibitions.

She laments as he breaks the kiss and stumbles off the sofa and onto his feet. Slipping his hand under her neck and knees, he scoops her into his arms and after falling to his knees, he puts her down on the sheepskin in front of the fireplace, as gently as his alcohol-filled clumsiness allows him.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” she asks, giggling nervously, her gaze locked on his dark eyes. _Oh yes, you will_ , she thinks to herself, biting her lip.

“Would you like that?” he teases, lowering himself on top of her, pressing his erection at the juncture of her legs, and his lips in the curve of her neck.

“Very, very much…” she murmurs, her hands firmly gripping his arse to pull him closer, and purring in his ear.

Not willing to waste a single second, he rolls to his side, his hands reaching to unbutton her breeches and pull them down to her knees. She giggles as he flips her on her stomach and climbs on top of her.

“I want another baby…” he whispers, grinding his hard cock between her bare ass cheeks through the fabric of his breeches, eliciting a loud moan from her throat.

“I’m so drunk you could probably convince me…” she chuckles, raising her hips to meet his grinds.

“You wanna play with fire?” he asks, while unbuttoning his breeches and freeing his cock. With a moan and a nod, she parts her legs a little, and in a smooth move, he enters her from behind, his weight on his elbows and knees and most of her backside, his hands holding her wrists down. He begins to thrust slowly, picking up the pace a little each time, bending down now and again to press biting kisses on her neck and her shoulders.

“I wanna fuck you, all night long. I wanna fill your womb with my seed, time and time again…” he says in a deep and raspy voice, sending a shiver down her spine. She spreads her legs a little further and raises her backside, and he pushes his cock at that perfect angle that is hitting all the right spots inside of her. She can feel her orgasm approaching, the dull and delicious ache of intense pleasure gradually spreading from her core to her entire body.

“Élise, please…” he begs, panting. She can feel his shaft straining and thickening inside her, and she knows he is as close as she is.

“Yes, another baby, yes…” she gasps, crying out as he hits that sweet spot one last time, sending her over the edge. Immediately and with a growl, he spills inside her, filling her with warmth, her walls milking him dry.

* * *

What happened afterwards is nothing but a blur. He loved her several times, she recalls. Or maybe he didn’t? She tries to concentrate, to remember. _Does it really matter?_ she reasons herself. _Whether it was the first time, or the third time. Whether it was that night, or another night. The result is the same: I’m pregnant…_

“Oh my baby, will I ever love you?” she sobs, stroking her belly.

Julie’s cries startle her. Drying her eyes, she sits up at the edge of the bed, the change of position making her dizzy. She gets up carefully, grasping the edge of the bedside table to keep herself steady on her feet.

“Are you hungry, my baby Bunny? I think you’re hungry, yes,” she says softly as she picks up the fussy baby from the floor and into her arms, placing quick kisses on her cheek. She sits on the armchair by the window, making herself and the baby comfortable. While Julie is suckling, she looks through the window, and she notices the dark clouds approaching. _The oncoming storm_ , she thinks to herself. Then, her view suddenly changes, from the quiet landscape of grey mountains and green valleys, to the blood and violence of a battlefield.

_Another vision… Another premonition… Why today? Why now?_

She watches two young men fighting, two young men who are the spitting image of a young Arno, as if she was seeing his reflection on two mirrors simultaneously.

_Our sons…?_

_Am I carrying… twins? Is this what this vision is about?_

_Is that… a hidden blade…? No, it can’t be…_

She catches a glimpse of one of the young men, and her hand flies to cover her mouth.

_A cross._

“No!” she cries out. She feels her chest tighten, each breath coming with increasing difficulty. The room is spinning around her, she shakes her head, opens and closes her eyes, desperately trying to snap out of this vision, to no avail.

She recognizes an older Arno, and a grown-up Julie, caught in the middle of the fight. As she sees the family torn apart, she is overcome by an intense sense of fear. Breathing heavily with tears rolling down her cheeks, she pulls Julie closer against her, as her whole body is shaken by uncontrollable sobs.

“Breathe, I need to breathe,” she pants, gasping for air between sobs. “Breathe, Élise, breathe…” she repeats. But this time, her mantra fails to soothe her.

Entranced, trembling, she doesn’t notice Julie has quietly fallen asleep curled in her arms, her tummy full of milk, oblivious to her mother’s torments. Thoughts are racing in Élise’s head, spiraling out of control and taking over her mind.

_They will pick a side… They will turn against us… Arno and I will fail… The babies I’m carrying will only bring doom to this family… We can’t… I can’t… I have to…  I must stop this..._

A quiet whimper from Julie brings her back to reality. Through the window, her view has returned to grey mountains and green valleys.

Through her tears, she smiles fondly at her daughter, swallowing the lump in her throat. Humming a soft melody, she carefully gets on her feet, and carries her sleeping baby to her crib. She tucks her in, making sure her favorite cuddling doll was within her reach. Leaning over the crib, she caresses the baby’s head and kisses her round cheeks, inhaling deeply and smelling her baby freshness.

“Remember always, my little Julie Bunny, that mama loves you very, very much…”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, a strange calmness falling over her.

Moment later, she meets Arno as he’s taking the goats back to their stalls, the storm forming an imminent threat. The animals are restless, and Brioche struggles to keep them in check.

“Where are you going?” he asks, seeing she is hastily heading for the stables.  
“I forgot something, I need to go back to the village…”

“Élise, there’s a storm coming!”

“Which is why I’m going by horse, it’ll be faster,” she retorts, and her tone brooked no argument.

“And Julie?” he asks, coming to stand in front of her, blocking her way.

“She’s down for her nap, I’ll only be away a few minutes.” _Arno, please, this is already difficult enough,_ she implores silently.

He meets her green gaze -- that look in her eyes, this bizarre determination, he has seen it before, and it sets his alarms bells ringing. “You look upset, what’s going on?”

“NOTHING, Arno,” she snaps. “I’m just tired. And I need to go back, please just let me pass…” she says, her voice breaking with the tears she was trying to hold back.

As she stands in front of him, staring vacantly at her target -- the stables -- he looks into her eyes and scans her face, trying to read her and understand what was going on in her mind. _Élise, what’s torturing you? There’s something you’re not telling me,_ he wonders before admitting defeat. “Alright. You’d better come back to me,” he says, gently touching her arm.

She turns her gaze to him, his loving brown eyes focused on her. She sees the concern on his face, and her throat clenches tight. She forces a smile, unable to speak, words getting stuck.

He steps aside and she hurries to the stables to saddle her horse, resisting the urge to turn back and rush into his arms. _I can’t look back... Arno… I’m sorry…_

* * *

In a daze, she rides her horse along the river, as fast and as far away from the village as she can. Lightning bolts are flashing around her, followed by the rumble of the thunder, the loud claps frightening her and her horse. The bitter wind and the cold rain of November are biting at her skin, her disheveled hair is plastered on her forehead and her cheeks. Despite being the middle of the afternoon, she can barely see more than a few yards in front of her, the bloated clouds dumping torrents of rain and obstructing her view.

After a long ascent, she halts her horse. She hesitates only slightly before dismounting her brown mare, tying the reins around a tree. Shivering, her clothes drenched, water streaming down her face -- rain, or tears? -- she heads towards the edge of the cliff.

She begins to tremble as she peers over the edge. She can see the river dozens of feet below, its current already swelling and threatening to spill over its banks from the heavy rainfall.

With a howl, she falls to her knees at the very edge of the cliff, breaking into sobs, rocking herself back and forth, clutching her belly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” she cries in despair. A potent wave a nausea suddenly washes over her, and she vomits, again and again.

In the wind, she hears the faint lament of a baby, startling her back to reality. With her heart beating fast in her chest, she coughs and spits, then wipes her lips and chin with the back of her hand.

“Ju… Julie?” she stammers, looking confusedly around her, as if she had just woken up from a bad dream. She realizes she is alone, in the middle of a heavy rainstorm, too close for comfort to the edge of a high cliff.

One by one, she recalls the events of the day. The pregnancy. The vision. Saying goodbye to Julie. Riding up the hill.

As she becomes aware of what she was about to do, another surge of nausea, mixed with panic and terror, hits her like a thunderbolt, and she vomits once more.

Several minutes later, the nausea eases away and her breathing slows down, and she comes to her senses. _How long have I been gone? Hours? Where am I?_

“Arno… Julie… Oh God….I have to go back,” she mutters as she gets up to her feet.

* * *

The journey back home was long and hazardous, the trails having become muddy from the rain. Several times, she was only able to avoid getting swept away by a mudslide at the very last second.

When she finally makes it home, soaked to the bone and freezing, darkness has fallen. She is safe and sound except for a few scratches on her face and arms from flying and falling branches. After stabling her horse, she walks inside the house.

Sitting on the sofa, worried sick and restless, Arno is watching over Julie as she plays on the floor in the middle of the sitting room. He is biting his nails, endlessly asking himself where she could be, and imagining the worst scenarios, his feelings alternating between fear and downright anger. He hated himself for not having insisted when he saw how upset she was, for not having stopped her.

After she left earlier this afternoon, he kept on working for a little while, tidying up the barn and feeding the animals, until the storm started beating up the town, about half an hour later. He expected to find her in the house, but all he found was Julie alone in her crib, crying, in great need to be changed.

After caring for his child and comforting her as best he could, his first instinct was to look for Élise, but outside the storm’s intensity was approaching its peak. Reluctantly, he decided against searching for her, praying she was safe and found shelter in someone else’s house. But as time passed, he grew increasingly angry with her. _Where are you? Where did you go? WHY did you go? WHY would leave Julie behind like that? What could have possibly gotten into you?_

Upon hearing the front door open and close, Arno jumps off the sofa and rushes to the hallway, where Élise was shivering in her drenched clothes and making a puddle on the floor.

“Where the _hell_ were you?” he barks. His anger was palpable, and while he was standing several feet away from her, she could feel the excruciating pain radiating from deep in his body.

“Out…” she replied, avoiding his gaze as she hangs her soaked cloak on a hook to dry.

“I came back and found Julie crying, alone. You said you’d be a few minutes. It’s been hours, Élise. Where _in the hell_ were you?”

He is standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed in rage.

“You wouldn’t understand…” When she tries to slip past him, he grabs her shoulder and pushes her against the wall.

“What I don’t understand is why you left Julie alone,” he snaps, leaning closer and staring into her eyes.

“Where’s Julie, I want to see my child!” she demands, squinting back at him.

“I’m not letting you anywhere around her! I could have you arrested for being an unfit mother, you know.”

Upon hearing his bitter words, all her composure flew out the window. “Then go ahead! Have me arrested, divorce me! It’s just empty threats, I know you’ll never have the balls to follow through!” she sneers, pushing him away and fleeing out of the hallway.

“A good mother never leaves her child behind, whatever the reason!” he shouts from behind her.

She spins around, fuming. “A good mother? A _good_ mother? Like yours, perhaps? This perfect mother of yours, who died when you were a little child? Face the truth, Arno: your mother isn’t dead. Your mother was a coward, and she abandoned you. She’s not so perfect anymore now, is she?”

“SHUT UP!”

Before he could stop himself, it was already too late. His hand flew to her face, striking her across the jaw and breaking her lower lip open.

Stunned, she gasps as the pain hits her, bringing the back of her hand to her lip. She winces at the sting of her rain-wet skin on her broken lip. “Oh don’t you DARE lay your hands on me!” she hisses before launching at him, growling in anger.

Paralyzed in horror at what he had done, he doesn’t attempt to block her blows. Instead, he lets himself fall to his knees, his head in his hands, decades of pain and anguish emerging all at once from deep within and consuming him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry…” he cries, his body wracked by violent sobs, tears flowing down his face.

She freezes, stopping in her tracks with her hand suspended in the air. Bursting into sobs, she throws herself in front of him, carefully laying a hand on his shoulder and sliding it towards his neck, and then pulling him into her arms. He responds by wrapping his hands around her waist, burying his face in her neck, holding on to her with the despair of a child clutching at his mother. “I’m sorry… Arno, I’m sorry...” she cries, letting her own tears run free as she gently strokes his shaking frame. They cling together crying in each other's arms for the longest time, silently apologizing and wanting to comfort the other.

When his sobs subside, he pulls away from her. “Why did you say this? Calling my mother a coward…?” he asks, a wounded expression across his face.

Her stomach squirms with guilt, realizing how her words hurt him raw -- once more. “That was incredibly mean of me, please forgive me.” He doesn’t answer, he simply gazes at her with the same deeply pained look on his face. “I read the letter you wrote your father…” she continues in a low voice.

“What?” he exclaims, bewildered. He pulls out of her embrace completely, retreating a few feet away from her to sit with his back against the wall. He needed to be alone, he needed to breathe.

“Your notebook fell on the floor, the pages got scattered everywhere, and the letter caught my eye… That’s the letter you were writing when we visited the farm, wasn’t it?”

He stares at his hands, fidgeting. “I had a doubt, that night… I suppose I’ve always known, it was easier to keep convincing myself she was dead…” he says, his voice choked with emotion, blinking back the return of his tears.

She approaches him slowly then sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “It was probably easier for your father, too. He died before he could tell you the truth. And either my father didn’t know, or he didn’t think it was important to tell you. Will you go look for her?”

“Why would I do that?” he scoffs bitterly. “She abandoned me, she obviously didn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t want to see her, I have nothing to say to her. Plus, maybe she’s dead now. I have my own family to take care of, let the past be the past...”

She shifts her body, turning around to face him, but he is purposely avoiding her gaze. “Arno, listen to me: her leaving doesn’t mean she didn’t love you. She must have had her reasons to leave. Don’t you want to know them?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You need to know in order to heal. That insecurity of yours, how you spiral out of control and become self-destructive when you are alone… You just clung to me like a child clings to his mother’s skirts. I’m not your mother, I’m your _wife_.”

“Can we stop talking about her now?” he snaps. He closes his eyes. The wound was finally open and pain was gushing out, and in a desperate attempt to close it, he shut down completely, shutting her out at the same time.

She nods, sighing. “Alright. If you ever want to look for her, you can count on my help. Or if you need to talk…”

He looks up to her, his heart sinking as he sees the redness of jaw, and the wound on her lip. There was still some dry blood on her chin. He reaches to touch her cheek. She recoils slightly, but eventually lets him touch her. “I found Julie alone, I was worried sick something happened to you, and it was storming outside… I was afraid you left us...”

“I wasn’t thinking straight…” she says, gently taking his arm and lowering it away from her face. His hand on her cheek was both distressing and comforting, and she couldn’t bear his touch right now.

Her gesture stung his heart, but he knew he deserved much worse for lashing out at her the way he did. “Are you going to tell me why you took off like that?” he asks after a pause, meeting her gaze.

She takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. So many times she imagined herself telling him she was pregnant, but she never imagined a situation like this one: both of them sitting on the floor after a meltdown, following a fight which left physical and psychological marks. “I’m pregnant!” she finally blurts.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Wh… What?”

“I saw them. I saw the babies…” She snickers upon hearing her own words. She knows how ridiculous she sounds. How could she have _seen_ the babies? They are not even born, they are only tiny little beings, safe and warm in her womb.

“B… Babies?” Arno’s mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“Two young men, all grown up, looking just like you.”

“What are you saying?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. _Babies?_

“I had another vision, but not the kind I wanted to see…”

“Speak clearly: who did you see, and what did you see?”

“I saw war, I saw the family torn apart, I saw our two sons fighting against one another. And I panicked.”

 _War? Our two sons fighting?_ The conflicting feelings in his heart are making his head spin, torn between the sheer joy of being a father again, and the fear arising from this foreboding warning.

“I fed Julie, and I put her down for her nap,” she continues. “I told her to always remember her mother loved her very much, and I said goodbye…” She chokes on the last words, and starts to cry.

Her words take a moment to sink in. “Élise, no…”

“I rode along the river, up the highest cliff I could find. I thought…” She covers her eyes with her hands, her shoulders rising and falling with each sob.

His mouth opens and closes as he’s struggling to say the words that are stranded in his throat, the thought of her wanting to kill herself to save the family from being torn apart too unbearable to even acknowledge and put into words. “You thought that if you died, your vision wouldn’t come true? Is that what you thought? You wanted to die?” he eventually manages, swallowing a large lump in his throat. It all made sense now. That look he saw in her eyes earlier, it was the same determined look she gave him right before they began their ultimate fight against Germain, standing on the a rooftop overlooking the Temple. The look of someone who was ready to die for her cause -- any cause.

“I couldn’t think of any other way out, I was in shock after what I saw…”

“And you said goodbye to Julie, but not to me?”

For once, it was his words which struck her like an arrow through the heart. She uncovers her eyes to look at him, wishing she could take away the pain she sees in his eyes, and wishing she could take back her words and her actions that shattered his heart. She said goodbye a million times, but he couldn’t hear her. “I couldn’t say anything, you would have stopped me…”

She stiffens and pulls away as his hands touch her shoulders, but he insists, his fingers gliding gingerly around her shoulder and across her back. She gives in to his touch, the dire need to feel his arms around her taking over. She leans into him, sobbing and sniffling with her head buried in his chest. He holds her tightly against him, clinging to her and not wanting to let her go. _Why would you something so stupid? Why would you want to die?_ he asks silently. _I love you, you have a family!_

After several minutes, she takes a few deep breaths and he reluctantly loosens his embrace. She sits back next to him, with his arm around her shoulder. “But I couldn’t do it. Then I heard Julie’s cries in the wind -- was it my imagination or my conscience, I don’t know. Her cries brought me back to reality, as if I was suddenly waking up from a nightmare. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave her behind, I couldn’t leave _you_ behind.”

“Are you sure it was another of your visions, a premonition?”

She nods vehemently. “Clear as day. Like all the others.”

He frowns in surprise. “The others? What else did you see?”

“Before giving birth, I saw myself close to death after losing a lot of blood. I knew it was going to happen. I told you, but you dismissed my worries.”

He shakes his head. “I had no idea…”

“And when we visited the farm, upon entering the house: I saw our children again, running around the table. The same vision I had when we conceived Julie. The exact same vision, and I wasn’t going to let that farm slip away from our hands, even if it meant paying for it with all our money. It was our only chance.”

“You seem to possess quite an uncommon mother’s instinct. And today, what you saw…” He places a hand on her belly, and she covers his hand with hers. His hand felt warm, comforting, and protective, and it brought back memories from the year before, when she was pregnant with Julie.

“I saw twin boys, spitting image of you. At first I thought I was seeing you double! But then you appeared as a handsome middle-aged man, your long dark hair stranded with grey… And then I saw Julie… Gosh, she was beautiful… There was a lot of blood, a lot of pain. We can’t let this happen, Arno. We can’t ever let anything rip this family apart.”

“We’ve altered the course of History once, maybe we can do it again? We’ll love them, and teach them to love each other, and make sure they never pick a side…”

“Maybe you’re right… Maybe we can prevent this, now that we know…”

Shivering, she curls next to him and lays her head on his lap. Her clothes were still wet from the rain, and so far away from the fireplace, Arno’s warmth was not enough to keep her warm.

“So we’re having twins? Twin boys?” he asks with a broad smile, stroking her matted hair.

She chuckles, then nods. “I hope I’m right, my heart would be crushed to see you disappointed in a few months! I know how you wish to have a son… And now you’ll have two!”

“Why would I be disappointed? Whether it’s one girl, or one boy, or two, or one of each -- it doesn’t matter to me. As long as they are healthy. As long as we have a family.”

“We cannot tell anyone about this! They’ll think we’ve gone mad… And I could still be wrong!”

“But when…? How…? We’ve been careful… _I’VE_ been careful...”

“Remember that drunk night we had about a month ago? Do I have to remind you how…?”

He chuckles. “Oh, right… I have to say, I don’t remember much of that night…”

“We played with fire, and got burned.”

“I still can’t believe it. I’m so happy…” he beams.

His obvious joy tugged at her heart. “I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I didn’t want to get pregnant, but instead… And how are we going to feed this new mouth -- or these new mouths, if I’m right about carrying twins… Oh goodness… Twins… Just _saying_ the word....”

“We’ll manage. Don’t you worry about that. Have you been sick yet?”

She nods. “When I was out there. I feel nauseous all the time, and I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll take good care of you, and the babies. _Babies_. I love the sound of that…” He smooths her hair, his other hand going from her back to her belly. She closes her eyes, his warmth finally seeping through her soaked clothes and her skin, and utter exhaustion gradually taking over her. He closes his eyes too, dreaming of the coming months, imagining Élise’s belly growing, and welcoming the twins to the family.

“Mba… mba…”

He snaps out of his reverie, and she jolts awake. Lost in his thoughts, and while she drifted to sleep, they hadn’t noticed Julie painstakingly crawling from the sitting room where she was left alone, to the entrance of the hallway where they were sitting, repeatedly falling on her tummy and pulling herself up each time.

“Did she just…crawl all the way to here? I left her in the sitting room, on the floor...” he says, his face breaking into the largest of grins, his voice choked with emotion once more -- this time with pride.

“Was that mama or papa, Julie? What did you say? Say it again!” she says, smiling at her daughter. She extends her arms and wiggles her fingers to encourage Julie to crawl up to her.

“Mba… Mba!” the baby babbles, smiling back at her parents, and crawling a little closer to them.

“Good girl, Sweet Pea!” he says as he scoops the baby up, giving her a few bounces in the air and covering her cheeks with kisses before settling her on his lap.

She looks at him, her heart melting, yet filling with guilt. _How could I possibly want to die, to leave him behind, to leave my baby behind? What got into me?_ She takes a deep breath to ease away the tide of anxiety that threatens to submerge her again. “Congratulations, papa Arno,” she says, smiling fondly at him and the baby.

“Congratulations, mama Élise.” he says, returning her smile.

“I love you…”

“I love you too… and you two, too…” he says, putting a hand on her belly. He leans in to kiss her, but she stops him at the last second.

“Don’t you ever lay your hands on me again,” she says firmly through slightly clenched teeth. “ _Don’t. Ever. Again._ ”

Her words hammered home. He closes his eyes and sighs, then nods. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I promise…” He opens his eyes again and meets her softened gaze.

“And I promise I’ll never leave the children or you behind. Ever.”


	18. Dark Before Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to lorenes for helping with this chapter :-) It had been a while... Thanks, love! ♥

**November 10, 1795**

A vivid dream woke him up in the middle of the night. He saw himself as a child, running down an endless corridor after his mother, but she kept eluding him.

Breathless, heavy-hearted, with the feeling of a gaping void inside, he turns to face Élise who is sleeping next to him, the faint silver light from the moon shining on her face.

 _How could you leave us?_ he wants to shout, anger and resentment tightening his chest.

Unable to fall asleep again as he ruminates the events of the afternoon before, he slips out of bed and gets dressed as quietly as possible. Downstairs, he throws a couple of logs in the fireplace. As the warmth of the fire radiates around the house, he opens a bottle of wine and sits down on the floor on the sheepskin.

_How could you leave us, Élise? How could I hit you? Why do we keep on hurting each other like that? Why did you leave me, mother? Wasn’t I a good boy? Wasn’t I worthy of your love? Of course not. A mother never leaves a child behind out of love…_

“Shut up!” he croaks to the voice in his head before taking a large gulp of wine straight from the bottle, and exhaling a loud sigh.

A short while later, Élise is woken up by a wave of nausea. “Great, now I’m even nauseous while I sleep. This gives a whole new meaning to _morning sickness_!” she grumbles. Noticing the empty bed next to her, she frowns.

Shivering, she throws a robe over her shoulders and climbs the stairs down to the kitchen.

“You can’t sleep?” she asks as she pours herself a glass of water from the jar on the counter, but he doesn’t answer. “Do you want something to drink?” she continues as she approaches the sitting room. “Oh right, never mind, I see you already have something…”

“I had a nightmare,” he explains, picking at the label of his bottle.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really…”

She sits on the sofa diagonally to him, reaching with a hand to sweep a strand of hair behind his ear, and brushing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

“Arno… I’m here for you…”

He shrugs her hand away. “And yet, you were ready to leave for good just a few hours ago!”

 _Bang! Shot right through my heart again_ , she thinks to herself, sighing loudly. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“I don’t know… I need time...” he mumbles.

She reaches to smooth his hair, working her fingers through it as gently as she could. To her relief, he doesn’t push her hand away.

“You hit me...” she begins hesitantly.

“And I do not deserve one ounce of your love because of it!” he interrupts, shaking his head.

“... but I forgive you...”

“You shouldn’t!”

“... and you should forgive yourself too.”

“I do not deserve forgiveness. Not for what I’ve done!”

She gets off the sofa to kneel on the floor next to him, and then she throws her leg across his lap to straddle him. Her open robe reveals her naked body, but the arousing sight of her full breasts cannot take away the painful sight of the bruise on her jaw and her broken lip, and he closes his eyes to not see them.

“You deserve love and forgiveness more than anyone else. But it starts with yourself,” she says as she presses her lips on his for a kiss. The wine on his breath is making her nauseous, but yearning is pulling her to him like a magnet, as if she was attracted by his pain. She continues to kiss him, her hands slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck, and shifting her hips to grind them against his body.

“You’re not kissing back, you’re not touching me…” she says a few moments later, breaking the kiss, a note of disappointment in her voice. She snakes a hand between them and reaches for his cock, which remained stubbornly limp despite her efforts. “You’re not even… You don’t want me.”

“No, I don’t...” Her perfume and the heat of her skin are tantalizing his senses, but he doesn’t allow himself to give in. He thinks of Versailles, of the violence of his desire when fueled by pain, of his hand on her throat and his teeth sinking into her flesh. And at this moment, with his judgment impaired by alcohol, he was afraid the raw pain consuming his heart would only lead to more violence and more regrets. _You might not like it next time_ , he had warned her the year before. _No, you wouldn’t like it this time Élise, believe me_ , he thinks to himself, his fist clenching and unclenching.

She lets out a sigh and scoots off his lap, sitting down next to him instead.

“Who was I to think you’d want me after what happened yesterday,” she says bitterly. “So that’s what rejection feels like…”

“It feels much worse than this…” he snorts while chugging the last drops of wine.

Gripped by a shiver, she rearranges her robe to cover her nakedness.

“You had a blade,” she blurts, ending the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

“What do you mean?”

“In my vision, you were wearing your hidden blade, and so were both our sons. Julie wasn’t wearing one, thought…Our sons must have been both Assassins at one point.”

“What are you insinuating? That I will join the Brotherhood again, and take our sons with me? And that somehow, one of them will go rogue and end up joining the Templars? You’re saying all of this will be _my fault_?” He grabs the bottle and lets out a frustrated growl when he realized it’s empty. _More wine, I need more wine..._

“No, Arno. That’s not what I’m saying. I want our children to be free to choose, or to _not_ choose anything, for that matter. Ultimately, it will be _their choice_ what they do with their lives.” She takes his hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “In the letter Ruddock had with him, I asked you to go back to the Brotherhood and plead for the third way. I asked you to continue my work.”

“I know, I read it. Wait, are you asking me…?”

She shakes her head. “I am not asking you anything. Let it be _your choice_. I simply thought the best way to ensure our sons learn to work together would be to show them unity and peace is possible. As long as the war rages on, the chance they end up on opposing sides exists.”

He closes his eyes and cocks his head back for a moment while he considers her idea.  “A very risky plan. What if I get killed? You know how dangerous the life of an Assassin can be. I wouldn’t want to leave you behind, alone with the children… And after all the efforts we’ve put into escaping, you want us to walk right back inside the lion’s den?” he says, turning his head again to glance at her.

Another shiver runs down her spine. She is well aware of the risks to the family’s safety. Deep down, she knows it’s only a matter of time before the past catches up with them and disrupts the peaceful life they have come to know in Sisteron, whether or not they willingly put their heads in the lion’s mouth by knocking on the Brotherhood’s door.

“I know it’s risky, I could lose you, or lose our sons. Or worse, I could lose both my husband and my sons.”

“And you think I can do that? You think _I_ can end this never-ending war?”

“There are other voices pleading the peace. You are not alone. _We_ are not alone.” She gently touches his cheek. “And if there’s one person in this world I trust to succeed in this endeavor, it’s you.”

He pulls his head away from her hand. “I need time…” he says with a deep sigh.

“Take all the time you need. I am not forcing this upon you, it’s your decision. We can wait until the children are older, when our family is complete.”

He reaches over and pulls her toward him. She snuggles against him, tugging the lapels of her robe under her chin. With his arm around her shoulder, he can feel her trembling, and he raises an eyebrow.

“How many children did you see?” he asks after a moment.

“In my visions? I never counted them. I only saw Julie and the twins as young adults in yesterday’s vision. And in the others… Five or six? It’s hard to say, they were running all over the place, the little monsters!” she adds with a chuckle that ended in a faint chattering of her teeth.

“Only five or six children?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

A smile finally appears on his lips as he places his hand on her belly. He couldn’t wait to see it swell as his babies grow inside her womb. “Halfway there, then…”

“I’m so cold…” she moans, shaken by a sudden and violent shiver.

He swiftly moves his hand to her forehead.

“How can you be cold, you’re burning with a fever! Go back to bed immediately!”

“I don’t have a fever!” she protests. “I’m just cold, this robe isn’t very warm, and the fire has almost died...” She starts shivering again, trembling in his arms as if she would shake herself apart.

“Élise, you are ill and you going back to bed!”

“And you are drunk! I can’t go back to bed, I have a lot of work to do today, the floors are dirty and we have a little crawler now, and I have a mountain of stinking diapers to wash…” she says through chattering teeth.

“You are not doing anything of this today, you are staying in bed.” He stumbles to his feet, the room spinning around him. He holds his hand out to help her up. She takes his hand, her other hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Gosh, I’m nauseous... “ she says, gagging.

“The more reasons to go back to bed. And I’ll join you for a couple of hours. There are surely a lot of storm damages to repair, and I need more sleep.”

She spins around, taking his head between her hands and holding it. “Arno, listen to me. I love you. And we cannot make this marriage work if we don’t forgive ourselves and each other.”

He knows she is implicitly begging for his forgiveness, but his heart wasn’t ready. “The fever is making you delirious, you’re rambling. Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

Concerned about her health and the babies’, Arno knocked on the neighbors’ door earlier this morning, pleading for Marcera to come and watch over her and Julie while he scoured their property to evaluate the storm damages and cared for the animals. At his insistence, Élise slept most of the day, smothered under several warm blankets, only waking up to feed Julie, and eat a few spoonfuls of porridge, the only thing she seemed to be able to keep down.

Little hands tap on Élise’s face, startling her out of her sleep.

“Baba…”

She opens her eyes. The afternoon sun is flooding the room with its warm light, and there was Julie sitting next to her, with her rosy cheeks and her beaming smile. Laughing and squealing, the baby reaches for Élise’s face again to grab her nose.

Élise giggles, but her throat is itchy and dry and her laugh turns into a cough, and then a wheeze.

“Hey, Baby Bunny, that’s _my_ nose!” she protests, coughing once more to clear her throat. “And what are you doing in bed next to me?” she asks as she reluctantly stretches her arms from under the warm blankets to pull Julie close for a cuddle and plant quick kisses on her forehead, sighing contentedly as she holds her daughter in her arms.

“She wanted to be with you, she wouldn’t go down for her nap in her crib, but the moment I laid her next to you, she fell asleep,” Marcera explains. She is standing by the door, arms with rolled up sleeves crossed over her chest.

Élise turns her head, smiling at the older woman. “Thank you so much for watching over her today. My chest hurts…I feel like I’ve been run over and trampled by an angry mob of Revolutionaries.”

“Arno told me you were out during the storm, no wonders you’ve got yourself a nasty lung fever. What on Earth were you thinking? And how did you get this bruise on your jaw and this cracked lip?”

Élise’s hand instinctively goes to her jaw and her lip. “A flying branch hit me square in the face...” she replies, her cheeks hot for shame as she lies. _And this is how vérités cachées are created_.

Marcera nods, uncrossing her arms and walking towards the bed. “I see. And I suppose congratulations are in order!” she adds with a warm smile.

 _News surely travel fast in this village._ Élise returns her smile. “You’ve heard!”

“Elena dropped by our house yesterday afternoon. As you can imagine, Clara couldn’t be more excited about delivering your baby in a few months.”

 _Your baby. Of course, everyone thinks I’m carrying just one baby…_ “And how do you feel about it? I know you weren’t too ecstatic when she decided to become a midwife.”

Marcera sits at the foot of the bed, nodding. No, she wasn’t happy when she heard her only daughter wanted to become a midwife instead of marrying a good man and having a family. All the money they spent to send her to a good school, the best in the region, had been a waste. “I’ve come around,” she confides. “I’ve noticed how her confidence has grown, she is smiling more, and she’s gradually coming out of her shell. And while she’s been confronted with death of both mother and child already, she adores her work. My shy Clara, who barely ever opens her mouth, suddenly cannot stop talking about everything she’s seen and everything she’s learned. My Clara is happy. As a parent, we only want our children to be happy, don’t we?”

“We do. Right, Julie Bunny? You’re a happy baby!” she coos, tickling the baby’s tummy and neck to make her laugh. Her own laugh sends her once more into a bout of coughing. She straightens in bed, the sudden change of position making her dizzy and nauseous. Julie whimpers and fusses, then rolls onto her tummy, startled by her mother’s loud coughing.  “While you’re all happy, mama is sick, and this little brother or sister of yours is making me feel even sicker…” she eventually manages, settling into a sitting position after her cough calmed down.

“I’ll go make you some tea. And by the way, the dirty diapers are washed and now hanging to dry, and the floors have been scrubbed.”

“I can never thank you enough for your help! Ugh, I’m so cold…” Despite the fire warming up the room and the multiple blankets covering her body, she was constantly shivering, the fever still not broken.

As Marcera leaves the room, Élise lays Julie by her side and lies down beside the girl, both facing each other. The baby's eyes flutter and she moves lazily at an attempt to fight sleep. Élise chuckles at the little girl, so young and already showing her mother's stubbornness here and there. She delicately runs her fingers along the baby’s forehead and cheeks to soothe her to sleep. “Let me tell you the story of a little princess who lived in a tiny castle in the mountains, surrounded by goats. And one day, the little princess was blessed by the gift of two little baby princes. The little princess was really happy, because she wouldn’t be so alone anymore!”

“Don’t fill her head with fairy tales! You look terrible, by the way.”

Élise glances at the doorframe, where Arno stands smiling, but there is something clearly amiss with him.

“Believe me, I feel terrible!” she grumbles. “And you look like someone who has terrible news…” she adds with a frown.

“There are a lot of damages to fix. The animals won’t suffer, it’s not winter yet. The house is intact, save from a few missing tiles on the roof. All the buildings are still standing, but they will need serious patching up.”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yes, because I didn’t use all the money Fabian had given me. I kept it aside for emergencies like that.”

She sighs in relief. “That’s good to hear. Yet, there’s something else you’re not telling me…”

He sits on the edge of the bed, a grim look on his face. “I haven’t seen Mademoiselle Moustache today. I don’t know where she is.”

Élise gasps, surprised. “Is she gone? Is she dead?”

“She wasn’t in the barn when I went back inside the house. Maybe the storm disoriented her a little, and she took shelter somewhere else temporarily. I’m certain she’ll come back, don’t worry!” he says with his best reassuring smile.

Next to her, Julie falls asleep at last, and the sound of her quiet snoring is tempting Élise to join her for a nap.

“Brioche is fine, isn’t she?” she asks. God forbid they would have lost another pet.  
Arno nods. “Yes, like the good herding puppy that she is, she stayed put in the barn as I told her, watching over the goats.”

“Good girl!” she chuckles. She pulls the blankets up tight under her chin and closes her eyes, admitting defeat to fatigue and the fever burning inside her.

“I have to go back, I want to make a few repairs before it gets too dark. I’ll see you both later.”

Arno kisses the top of Julie's head gently, and runs his hand through Élise's hair for a brief moment before leaving the room. Élise is hurt, though she knows she can't do anything but wait for Arno to see reason on his own.

Appeased by her daughter’s breathing and the crackling of the fire, Élise falls asleep before Marcera arrives with her tea.

* * *

**November 16, 1795**

The days went by steadily as Élise did little but spend time with Julie in bed, telling her stories, playing and napping together. She never had the opportunity to spend that much time interacting with her daughter since she was born, and she was savoring every minute of it. With the twins coming in a few months, she knows she will have to divide her attention between them and Julie, not to mention her work around the house and on the farm.

Her illness has begun to wear off and while coughing is disrupting her sleep day and night, she is gradually gaining her strength back. The bruise on her jaw has long disappeared and her lip has healed. However, with the constant nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach, she isn’t eating much, porridge with a spoonful of honey having replaced dry bread as her main source of nourishment this pregnancy around.

Arno's repairs are going well, and most of them were already finished. And while he has been more affectionate with her as the days went by, he remains distant, and the reason for this detachment Élise couldn’t quite place.

Little does she know his nightmares have been scratching his wounds open every night, and Arno has resorted to drinking to numb the throbbing pain. Alone in the sitting room in the middle of the night, an empty bottle -- or two, or three -- at his side, everything was a whirlwind inside his head, love and hate colliding, and he was losing grip. He blames himself for hitting his wife, the person he loves the most in the world, while he resents her for wanting to leave him and Julie behind -- just like his mother did. _Even Mademoiselle Moustache is leaving us,_ he thinks sorely. 

> _Papa,_
> 
> _Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you tell me mama left us?_
> 
> _Why did she leave us?_
> 
> _Was it because you were an Assassin? Did you get angry at her? Was she afraid of you?_
> 
> _I need to understand -_

For the umpteenth time, he tries to write a letter to his father, but words get trapped in the limbo of his tormented mind. He can’t concentrate, his head pounding from too many drunken nights and lack of sleep, and his hands are shaking, smudging the ink over the pages.

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, Élise finds him passed out on the floor after coming down to make herself some tea.

Kneeling besides him, she takes his head between her hands and taps his cheeks. “Arno, my love, wake up!”

His eyes flutter open and he lets out an incomprehensible grumble. “Éliiisssee…” he mumbles when his foggy brain recognizes his wife.

“Goodness me, you’re heavy when you’re drunk,” she pants as she slips her arms under his armpits to help him sit.

“Sick… Gonna be sick…”

“I figured you would, and I came prepared! Here… “She hands him the pail she normally uses to scrub the floors. She turns her head away and covers her nose and mouth with her arm, repressing a gag. The acrid smell of wine mixed with bile was making her extremely nauseous, but she was determined to fight the urge to vomit herself. When he calms down, she puts the pail aside and pulls him into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder. With the wet washcloth she brought with her, she cleans the sweat off his forehead.

“How long has this been going on? How long have you been letting yourself spiral out of control again?” she says softly, smoothing his hair.

“I don’t want a lecture…” he groans.

“I’m not lecturing you. I want to help you!”

“I can’t be helped…” he says, pulling away from her embrace, and pushing her aside. He couldn’t bear her arms around him, he needed to breathe.

This rejection of her affection stung, but she looked past it. “Arno, I’m sorry, a thousand times. I love you, with all my heart… I can’t go on without you.”

“And you thought I could?” he scoffs, suddenly very awake. “You thought I could raise Julie alone, and go on with my life after my wife killed herself along with my unborn babies? You left us, you left me…” Bitter tears roll down his cheeks, tears he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“It was a terrible idea, a terrible and stupid idea. I wasn’t myself. I was in shock, and I became… this other person. If only I could turn back time and erase what I did…”

“Every night, I have the same nightmare, where I’m running down an endless corridor, running after my mother. Every time I get close to her, every time her hand is within my reach, she suddenly disappears, and I stand there alone and frightened. And sometimes… Sometimes, it’s you I’m chasing. And every time I reach for your hand, you suddenly disappear too…”

“I’m here. I’m not leaving, I promise you…”

She tries to touch his arm, but he roughly shrugs her away.

“You will, like everyone else. Like everyone else I ever trusted. Like everyone else I ever loved,” he cries in anger.

She sighs. _I tried the gentle way, but you’re not leaving me any choice_. _This calls for less gentle measures…_ “Arno, enough with the self-loathing! Enough with drinking yourself numb! Enough!” She takes his head in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Look at me! Look into my eyes! I love you. I will not let you sink like that. Not again.” She is speaking firmly, yet calmly.

He tries to turn his head away, but she’s holding it firmly in place. “You once told me I had to forgive myself first in order to heal. It's time you take your own advice. You are not responsible for your mother leaving. Whatever she decided to do with her life was her own decision, as stupid and selfish a decision you might think it was, and you had nothing to do with it. You are worthy of love, you are worthy of forgiveness, and it starts with yourself.”

Tearing his eyes away from her earnest gaze, he looks down, her words hitting home.

With the same determination, she takes his hand and places it on her belly. “In a few months, your sons will be born. They need their father to guide them. And I need you.”

She was still ambivalent about the pregnancy, attributing most of her conflicting emotions to fear: having twins is risky and dangerous, both for the mother and the babies. And even if all three survive, caring for two newborns and another young child seemed like humongous task she couldn’t possibly tackle on her own. She needed him. All of him.

After a moment, he looks up to look into her softened eyes, filled with love and compassion.  

“I don’t know if I can…” he murmurs, swallowing the lump in his throat and drying his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you can. Let the twins give you the strength you need. Let me give you the strength you need. I might have been reluctant to take it at first, but I couldn’t be more proud of carrying your name than I am now. I will not leave. Not ever. I’m your wife, not your mother.”

All at once, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place inside his hazy mind. He realizes he’s been constantly projecting his unconscious pain and insecurity from being abandoned on Élise, from his overprotective and smothering behavior towards her, to the anger and the resentment he feels at the slightest of her rejections, even more so since Élise has given birth to Julie and became a mother herself. He’s been projecting on her his expectations of the perfect mother, the perfect image of his own mother he had forged in his mind. But Élise, as imperfect as she was, would never be a match against this ideal mother image. She was her own person -- his wife, not his mother. And he had to stop confusing his feelings towards his mother with his feelings towards his wife.

A faint smile appears on his lips as a heavy load was lifted from his shoulders. _She will not leave. Not ever._

“I forgive you…” he says softly, staring deeply into her green eyes and his hand caressing her face.

She returns his smile, rubbing her cheek against his hand. She had missed the touch of his callused hands on her skin. “I’m delighted to hear that, but you need to forgive yourself first.”

“And I forgive myself. She had her own reasons for leaving. I am not responsible for it.”

“I want to kiss you, but I think I’ll pass. And here’s to hoping you’ll remember all of this in the morning, drunk as you are right now.” She reaches to him, pulling him into her arms for a hug. “My love, we are a team, a family. And our family is only getting bigger. We have to leave our past behind, and concentrate on the future.”

“I love how you’re using my own words against me…” he says with a chuckle, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

She kisses his forehead. “You’re welcome. Let’s go back to bed, you still have a few hours to sleep off all this wine before the morning milking.”

* * *

**November 17 1795**

Another vivid dream woke him up in the middle of the night. At his side, Élise is lying on her back, her hands resting on her pillow and framing her face, her heavy breasts bare and uncovered. She is smiling in her sleep -- a blissful and contented smile.

The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air after a wonderful evening of tender and passionate lovemaking. Like so many times before, when they thought everything was lost, they found each other again, their bodies and souls interlocking perfectly, like puzzle pieces finding their match. “Love me again,” she said repeatedly, and he did.

In her crib at the opposite end of the room, Julie is babbling, yet Élise is sound asleep and she doesn’t seem to be hearing the sound of her baby chatter.

After quietly slipping out of bed and getting dressed, he picks up the baby from her crib and cradles her into his arms.

Downstairs, he settles in front of the fireplace. He readjusts the blanket over Julie and she lies comfortably on his chest, her head nestling under his chin and her little hands gripping the collar of his shirt. He can feel the baby’s heartbeat next to his own, and her breath gently blowing in his neck, warming his heart.

“When you were born, I promised you I would be a good father, Sweat Pea,” he murmurs, delicately stroking the baby’s back and occasionally pulling her tiny toes to make her giggle. “To be a good father, I have to be strong -- for your mother, for you, and for your future brothers and sisters. I have to forgive your mother… and I have to forgive your grandmother, too. It’s a shame you will never get the chance to meet her. No doubt she would have loved the adorable little girl that you are.”

He starts to sing, softly, a lullaby that his mother had often sung to him when he was little, a memory he had repressed for far too long. And instead of his heart filling with pain and anger like each time he thought of his mother, it filled with joy at the thought of sharing this memory with his daughter, and soon with his other children. The motivation behind his mother disappearance escaped him, and he was aware he would never achieve peace of mind until he finds out. _But she is my past, while Élise and the children are my future. Concentrate on the future, Arno…_

Lulled by his voice, rocked by her father’s breathing, Julie quickly falls asleep while sucking on her thumb.

“You’ll have to curb that habit of sucking on your thumb sooner or later, Mademoiselle Dorian,” he whispers, caressing her cheek with the tip of his fingers.

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re even bothering with furniture in this room. We’re always sitting on the floor…” Élise murmurs as she quietly sits down next to him, wrapping herself in a warm blanket thrown over her shoulders, coughing as discreetly as she can by fear of waking up Julie.

He didn’t hear her come downstairs nor did he hear her footsteps on the cracking wooden floor, but he was delighted to see her. “We need the sofa to rest our backs against something, don’t we?”

She scoots closer to him and he slips his arm around her shoulders. “Why are you awake in the middle of the night? At least you’re not drinking, that’s a good sign...” she teases as she curls up cozily against him.

“Same dream… But this time, I did catch your hand. You didn’t disappear.”

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Their eyes meet, her hopeful gaze meeting his tender gaze. She smiles, and he smiles in return, and then nods.

“I forgive you. I am also deeply sorry for hitting you, I swear to God it will never happen again. And while I haven’t made a decision regarding your risky plan, I wanted to let you know that I am considering it.”

Her smile widens. She believed him when he said he will never hit her again, and she made a silent promise to never play with his mind or take advantage of his pain the way she did before. It was a dangerous game where everyone was a loser.

“I trust you. And I am relieved. There is absolutely no need for hasty decisions. Take your time. Years, if you need. I want it to be something you really want.”

“What are _you_ doing up in the middle of the night? You’re still convalescent, you need to rest…”

“The lovely voice of an angel pulled me out of my slumber. I love your singing voice, I don’t hear it often enough!” She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and he kisses the top of her head and the baby’s. And as he sings another lullaby, their three hearts beating alongside each other, she drifts to sleep.

* * *

**November 29, 1795**

“Arno! Arno! Arno!”

Élise comes running into the barn, waving a letter in her hand. She is greatly agitated, and wearing a beaming smile.

“You certainly look happy!” he teases, setting his rake aside.

“A letter... from Freddie!” she pants, out of breath from her sprint from the front door to the barn. “The estate has been sold, the villa as well!”

He breaks into the largest of grins, looking up and raising his hands as if thanking the heavens. “Wonderful news!”

Leaping into his arms, she locks her legs around his hips. As their lips meet for a kiss, he hugs her and spins her around. It had been so long since they felt this happy, with an overwhelming, grateful sense of relief.

“Oh God, put me down, I’m going to be sick…” she gags, breaking the kiss.

After gently putting her down on her feet, he kisses her forehead, and pulls her close against him for another hug. “Sorry, I got a little excited… How much?”

“More than enough to cover the loan, to finally buy decent materials to repair this farm from top to bottom, to save for a rainy day, to feed all of our children, and to breathe much, much easier! But that’s not even the best part of the letter…” she says cheekily with a cocked eyebrow.

His curiosity was piqued. “Oh really?”

“Since my dear old Freddie doesn’t trust any courier with such a sum of money, they want to visit next spring, as soon as the roads are good enough.”

He frowns in surprise. “They…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Freddie and Madeleine! Wouldn’t it be fantastic? They can be with us when the twins are born! And Freddie can meet Julie! And I could really use Madeleine’s help with caring for the twins and Julie -- three young children at a time, I cannot possibly do that on my own, even with Marcera’s help… Can they come? Please?”

She stares expectantly into his eyes, waiting for his answer. He loved seeing her so giddy, and he couldn’t help but tease her a little by making her wait.

“Of course!” he says after a moment that felt like an eternity to her. “They can stay in the guest house. Or we can arrange for a bed in the study we are rarely using. I bet Freddie would prefer a room downstairs and close-by, and this leaves the guest house available for anyone in need of shelter.”

“Good thinking!” she says, poking his shoulder with her index. “Shall I write back officially inviting them, then? Oh and I suppose I should tell them I’m pregnant again… I hope I won’t give poor Freddie a heart attack!”

He laughs out loud. “I hope not! We need this money! Go ahead. Tell them I’m really looking forward to seeing them both this spring.”

It certainly wasn't a lie. He was truly looking forward to seeing the old man again, having had the opportunity to get to know him better during his stay at the Café-Théâtre, from their wedding to their departure from Saint-Cyr. He knew what he meant for Élise, one of the last relics from her past life, and he wasn’t going to deny him the chance to meet Julie and the twins. And Madeleine... She was the closest to a mother figure he ever had during his years as steward of the Café-Théâtre, and he genuinely missed her never-ending chitchat.

“I will. I’m so excited!” she says, gleaming.

He plants a quick kiss on her lips. “By the way, you’re not the only one who is pregnant!”

She leans her head back, glancing at the goats in their stalls. “Are we getting invaded by a little army of jolly kids this spring?”

He nods. “It sure looks like it!” He had noticed yesterday that the bellies of most of their does were slightly bigger. It was probably just a matter of time before the other ones start showing.

“We can be pregnant together again, the goats and me!” she chuckles, both hands on her still-flat belly. She was staring at her profile every morning in the mirror, anxious to see her baby bump appear. “And I’ll have twins too, just like them!”

With a bounce in her step, Élise moves to leave to write back to Freddie, and just as she is about to open the door, Arno calls her with an amused tone.

“Élise?”

She turns to face him. “What?”

“Look who’s back!” He points to the corner of the barn. There, curled on the floor, Mademoiselle Moustache sleeps soundly. 


	19. Warm Winter Hearts (E)

** **

**December 7, 1795**

The days are getting shorter, yet the cold hasn’t settled in the mountains. Élise accepted the invitation to learn how to sew and knit, and she spends most of her afternoons in company of Henriette, the women who offered to teach her. She has children herself, including a young baby boy, who quickly became Julie’s playmate. Around a cup of tea, Henriette patiently teaches Élise how to cut simple children clothing out of old adult shirts or skirts, and how to knit a simple swaddling blanket. While Élise was grateful for Henriette’s teachings and took a liking for sewing, the needlework brought back not-so-fond memories of her childhood and her time at the Maison Royale. “If my mother could see me right now, she’d be both proud and confused!” she often said to Henriette with a chuckle. _Oh mother. You never thought your daughter would be sewing and knitting for her children, did you?_

Later that evening, when the baby is finally asleep and the house has been tidied up, she is sitting on the sofa with her feet curled up under her, holding her knitting work. Next to her, Arno is sitting back with his feet resting on the side table, holding his book with one hand on his lap, while his other hand absent-mindedly strokes her knee and her thigh. The house is silent, except for the crackling of the fire.

“I hate knitting! It’s so slow and pointless…” she groans as she unravels the last row of her knitting, and gets it back on the needle.

He looks up from his book and smiles at her. “Give it to me then, I’d like to try it!”

“You? Knitting?” she snorts.

He earmarks his page and sets his book aside. “Just show me!”

“Alright, if you insist!” She scoots closer to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, and hands him the needles and the yarn. “You need to hold the needles like that, and then the yarn… like that...” she explains, adjusting the needles and yarn in his hands. “And then you loop the yarn over this needle like that…” Placing her hands over his, she guides him through his first purl stitch. She repeats the steps a second time, and then lets him try on his own.

“Like this?” he asks with a frown of concentration.

She nods. “And you continue on and on, forever and ever, and eventually you get a baby blanket!” she says in an overly dramatic way.

“This is actually quite fun! And… relaxing,” he admits, clumsily working the yarn around the needles.

“By all means! If you don’t mind, I’ll stick to sewing. I despised needlework growing up -- embroidery takes forever, just like knitting. However, sewing is fun: the piece of clothing you’re making takes shape much faster than with knitting.” She sits back with her hands crossed over her knee to watch him knit.

“You’re simply too impatient! You always are!” he teases.

“Yes, you are absolutely right about that. To each his own, I suppose. You are much more patient than me, knitting suits you better. However, you cannot be knitting! You are a man! Men don’t knit!”

“You? Lecturing me about the role of men and women in society?” he sneers, laying his knitting on his lap. “The woman who fought tooth and nail to avenge her father? The woman who can wield a sword better than most men? Better than me?”

“The woman who could have become the first female Grand Master of the French Templars? The same woman who threw it all away to became a mother, a more traditional role?” she says with a note of melancholy in her voice.

“Are you still bitter about it?” He searches her eyes -- her eyes which always speak the words she never says. To his relief, he sees peace, and love.

“No, I’m not.” Smiling fondly, she places her hands on her belly, one atop the other. “When Julie was born, I said to her: ‘Maybe it wasn’t my destiny to be the peacemaker. Maybe we had it all wrong. Maybe you will.’ And who knows what these two will become in the future.”

“Never say never, Élise. It’s not too late!”

She sighs. _I have no allies, no support. I have children to raise. Yes, it is too late, my love_. She places a hand on his cheek, caressing his jaw line as she stares into his eyes. “The more children we have, the more enchained to the kitchen I become. I do not believe in nannies and other people raising my children in my place. It’s my duty to raise the children I brought into this world, my duty as a mother.”

“You could lead this family and the Templars with the same iron fist!” he says, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

She laughs, and then shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to be Grand Master. To be frank, I never did. That being said, I’m not sure how, or when, but I will continue fighting for peace. In my mother’s memory.”

She was born into it, her destiny was imposed upon her. But like Atlas, the weight of the responsibilities brought her to her knees. Her destiny had been her prison for far too long. _Even if I can’t do the work myself, I can still fulfill the promise I made to my mother,_ she ponders. _But not at the price of sacrificing the freedom and peace I found here._

She leans over the arm of the sofa to pick a dress she is making for Julie from a basket. “Look, isn’t it adorable?” she asks, holding the dress in front of her.

“It is, it is…” he nods, smiling. “You’ve changed so much over the past year, yet you’re still the same, with a blazing fire in your heart.”

She returns his smile. “Maybe I didn’t change, maybe I just found myself”.

“Cooking? Cleaning? Sewing? I would have never expected this… domesticity from you!”

“You should know by now that if I set my heart on something, I dedicate all my efforts to achieving my goals, including learning all the tricks of the trade needed to succeed. Instead of learning how to kill a man… I’m learning how to feed and clothe my children!” she retorts with a proud smirk and a shrug, as she proceeds to sew a small button at the front of the dress.

He kisses her on the cheek before returning to knitting the blanket. Sitting side by side, they concentrate on their work, their tongues sticking out through their lips.

“Oh I forgot to tell you earlier, Fabian handed me an invitation to attend the New Year’s reception at the City Hall,” Arno says casually, breaking the silence.

She drops her work on her lap. “A reception? A ball?” she asks, a bewildered look on her face.

“It won’t a ball from Versailles’ standards!’ he says with a chuckle. “First there will be a dinner, then some dancing until midnight, and then fireworks. The children are invited too, there will a nursery for the young ones. I already said we’d go.”

Tears well up in her eyes, and her lower lip quivers. “But…” She begins to sob softly.

He sets the knitting aside, taking her chin between his index and thumb. “Élise, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I don’t have anything to wear!” she wails, tears now running down her cheeks. “Nothing fits! And we don’t have enough money to buy me a dress! And to buy a dress for Julie! You can wear your wedding suit, but what about me?”

He presses his lips together, repressing a smile and a laugh. “Don’t cry, we’ll find a solution!” He takes her by the shoulders to pull her into his arms, where she sobs loudly in his ear. “You know, I don’t think you can ever hide a pregnancy from me…” he says with a smile as he gently strokes her back.

She pulls her head at once to stare at him, a pout and a frown on her face. “Why is that?”

He catches a tear with a brush of his thumb on her cheek. “Because of all the tears…”

“It’s not my fault!” she protests, miffed.

“... aaaand the mood swings…” he teases, now grinning widely. He was finding her behavior rather amusing.

“Stop laughing at me!” she groans, pulling away and sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest.

“We’ll find you a dress,” he says reassuringly. “Maybe Marcera has a dress you could borrow? Or Clara? And you have a few weeks to make something for Julie, don’t you?”

“I don’t have money for fabric, or lace, or anything…” she mumbles, uncrossing her arms and staring down at her hands.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something!”

“I’ll ask Marcera tomorrow… Perhaps she has dresses from when Clara was little…”

“There you go. No need for tears. You’ll be the prettiest woman at the reception anyway, even in rags!”

She laughs at his words, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “Gosh, I hate those tears…” she grumbles as she wipes them away.

“I find them adorable!”

“I’m not adorable when I cry!” she shrieks, thumping her fists on the sofa in protest.

“And here we go again!”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “Stop teasing me and making me upset then!”

They look at each other and suddenly burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry, you can be incredibly cute when you cry,” he says as he plants a quick kiss on her cheek.

She gives him an angry stare then sticks her tongue out, before returning to her sewing. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he takes the needles and his hands to continue knitting the blanket.

* * *

**December 31, 1795**

Winter was exceptionally warm this year, and there was no snow on the ground. And while the days were mild and bathing in sun rays, the nights were crisp and cold.

Arno is pacing by the front door, Élise’s cloak draped over his arm. The invitation to the New Year’s reception, while not extremely exclusive, meant a lot to him: it was proof they had left their mark in the city. Barely a year ago, guided by fate and helped by Lady Luck, they bought a farm and began working on rebuilding their lives. Not an easy feat for complete strangers who had to adjust to a new region, a new language, new customs, and new people.

“Élise, hurry up, we’re going to be late!” he calls impatiently.

“We’re almost ready!” Élise shouts from upstairs.

A few minutes later, she finally appears at the top of the staircase, holding Julie in her arms. She found a peacock blue dress in Marcera’s closet, and thanks to Henriette’s teachings, she was able to adjust the seams to make it fit over her already growing belly. The dress was far from being of the latest fashion, but the color enhanced her eyes, and the shape showcased her curves. “I don’t need to impress anyone, this isn’t Versailles!” she commented, looking with satisfaction at her reflection in the mirror.

She braided her hair, a look she adopted upon arriving in Sisteron the year before. She still loathed pinning her hair up, but wearing her hair loose wasn’t practical to work on the farm and around the house. A matching peacock blue ribbon was threaded in her braid, finishing in a delicate bow.

In her arms, little Julie was wearing a velvet blue dress Élise had made for her, sacrificing the heavy velvet skirt she was wearing during their travels from Paris to the South of France, and harvesting lace from and old petticoat. And from an old woolen blanket, she made her a warm cloak. Not all seams were perfectly straight, but Élise was incredibly proud of having made something from scratch for her daughter.

“What do you think? Are we worthy of a ball at the City Hall?” she asks as she steps off the last step of the staircase.

Smitten to the core, he nods, a large grin on his face. “Certainly, certainly! My two beautiful girls! You look gorgeous, as always. Even more so with this pregnancy glow on your cheeks…” he adds, pointing at her face.

“How can I be _glowing_?” she scoffs. “This infernal contraption is squeezing my belly in, I can’t breathe, and I still can’t keep most foods down after almost three months! I’m not glowing, I’m suffering!”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re glowing. There’s something about you when you’re pregnant…” He slides a hand around her waist and the small of her back. “Something that makes me want to fuck you, right here, right now…” he whispers in her ear. From the first instant he saw her in her dress, standing at the top of the staircase, his skin prickled with the fire of his desire for her. Was it her nipped waist? Or the fleshy mounds of her breasts bursting out of the deep-cut neckline? Or the sexy swish of her silk skirt as she moved around? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it was making him crave the warm cradle of her hips.

She chuckles. “Hold that thought until we’re back, we have social obligations to carry out first!”  She hands him Julie and takes the cloak he was handing her, throwing it over her shoulders.

“I’m looking forward to dancing with you!” he says, his eyes never leaving her as she gets ready.

“I’m all yours on the dance floor this evening…” she says with a playful smirk.

She stands on the balls of her feet to press a quick kiss on his lips, and he responds by dragging the kiss out for a few seconds.

“Ready Bunny? You look like Little Red Riding Hood with your little red cloak!” she coos, tickling the baby’s cheeks.

“Then we better keep her away from the big bad wolf!”

* * *

The reception had nothing of the splendor Versailles had accustomed them to, but it transpired the same friendly atmosphere as all other festivities in the village. The guests -- mostly employees of the city, skilled workers, traders, and their families -- are dressed up to the nines, chatting in small groups, a glass of champagne in hand. A private nursery had been set up to welcome small children and babies, with nurses to care for them and entertain them while their parents enjoy an evening of eating and dancing, either alone or in the company of their older children.

It broke Élise’s heart to leave Julie in the care of strangers, and she fought back her tears, promising to be back as soon as possible. “I miss my baby already,” she confided to Arno as they take their seats for dinner.

“I’ll be sure distract you,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

She raised an eyebrow in interest, wondering what he had in mind. She soon found out as they cleared the tables in preparation for dessert. She felt his hand on her knee, gently stroking it. She glances at him, but he was looking straight in front of him, seemingly absorbed in a lively discussion with the man sitting across from him. His fingers then claw her skirt up little by little, the cool air on her uncovered legs making her shiver.

“Arno, what are you doing?” she mutters under her breath.

“Did you say something, my love? I didn’t hear you,” he says exaggeratedly loud, his dark eyes staring back at her.

“Nothing, I said nothing…” she simpers, looking away in embarrassment.

While turning his attention back to his conversation, he slips his hand under the hem of her skirt and slides it between her thighs. Her skin is warm and so soft to the touch, and he insistently nudges his middle finger further between her legs. She looks around her, hoping no one noticed their little game. Letting out a discreet sigh, she parts her legs to grant him access. A satisfied smirk appears on his lips when his fingers reach her wet folds and find her little bud, which he immediately begins to rub in quick circles.

She bites her lower lip to silence the moan that threatens to escape her throat. She smiles and nods, pretending to give attention to the conversations happening around her, but her head is spinning with the pleasure rising inside of her. _This is worse than at our wedding reception,_ she thinks to herself, struggling to keep her breathing under control.

He continues his ministrations, watching her from the corner of his eye, noticing the pink blush on her cheeks and the tiny pearls of sweat on her forehead.

All of a sudden, he pulls his hand away and smoothes her skirt down, leaving her panting, flustered, and frustrated. He couldn’t help but be highly amused by her childish pouty lips and the frown on her face, clearly indicating she didn’t appreciate the interruption. “I’m not done with you,” he whispers in her ear while giving her knee a gentle squeeze. She bites her lip once more, smiling in anticipation.

He wipes his wet fingers on his napkin as the staff brings various platters filled with candied fruits and pastries to the tables. They relish in the delicately sweet flavors, feeding each other profiteroles filled with cream. He wipes a smudge of cream from the corner of her mouth, and with a wink, he licks his finger clean, the taste of her juices mixed with the sweetness of the cream.

Replete, they then sit back to finish their wine, eyeing the other guests on the dance floor.

They glance at each other, exchanging knowing smiles. After politely excusing themselves from their tablemates, they make their way to the dance floor, hand in hand.

“What were you doing?” she asks as she slips her arm around his shoulder, her other hand palm-to-palm with his. They begin moving on the dance floor, staring into each other’s eyes.

“You didn’t like it? From where I was sitting, you seemed to enjoy yourself. You’re not hiding your cards very well…”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked why you started touching me in the middle of dinner!”

He plants a kiss on her lips. “Because I feel adventurous tonight. Come!”

The lust in his eyes had the butterflies in her stomach taking flight. He leads her away from the dance floor and down a long dim-lit corridor. He opens a door to his left, and pulls her in. The room is dark save from the warm glowing light of a lantern hanging outside the building next to the window.

“I’ve been holding that thought for too long, I can’t wait anymore…” he says, his dark eyes boring into hers. After closing the door behind him, he takes her head between his hands for a kiss, his tongue mercilessly plundering her mouth. With their lips locked, he steers her towards the nearest wall, his hands swiftly moving from her head to her sensitive and engorged breasts. He squeezes them hard, and she groans in protest. She then tears her lips away from his, gasping for air.

“You know, the evening of your private party, if those guards hadn’t knocked on the door…” he murmurs, his hands traveling over her waist and to her hips.

“I’ve always wondered: were you hiding a pistol in your breeches, or were you delighted to see me?” she teases, throwing her arms around his neck. “That being said, I’m not certain my father would have approved you deflowering me the same evening I officially became a Templar!”

He chuckles, kissing and licking her neck. “It was a coming of age party, wasn’t it? And admit it, you wanted it as badly as I did!”

She smiles and tilts her head back, offering her neck to the assault of his lips and his tongue. “I can’t lie! He might not have approved, but I would have let you take me without a moment of hesitation. That sofa in front of the fireplace looked very cozy…”

“Nah, the desk: you, bent over it, and me, behind you…”

Mouth agape, she lets out an indignant squeal. “That's how you wanted to fuck me that evening? From behind? That’s not very romantic for a first time!”

“What I fantasized about and what could have actually happened are two different things. On the other hand, I recall plenty of romance a few years later, up in the air!”

She purrs, and then moans petulantly. “Indeed, there was. Now, get to it! We don't have a lot of time before Fabian notices our absence and sends everyone looking for us! We are the worse parents in town, you know that?”

He pulls her in for another deep kiss, one of his hands gliding to the back of her head and the other around the small of her back. He leads her to the long desk at the back of the room, and pushes the books and maps aside to make space. She grabs the edge to pull herself up and sit on the table, but he stops her in her tracks.

“Turn around,” he orders. His voice is raspy and uncompromisingly firm.

“Oh, I see. You want to live out your fantasy!” She gives him a lewd look before turning her body, facing away from him.

He hurriedly grabs her lacy skirts and hikes them onto her back, revealing her bare, round arse, and her slender legs in white silk stockings.

“Do you know what else I love about dresses?” he murmurs in her ear, his breath hot and arousing. “What you are hiding underneath: those long legs of yours in those crisp white stockings,” he continues, running his hands from her hips down to her thighs, and back up. “And those adorable little ribbons holding them up. I get hard instantly at the sight of them…”

He grinds his erection against her backside, tugging on her hips to increase friction. “And that beautiful heart-shaped arse of yours, it’s so, so inviting…”

He pins her down on the desk with a hand on her back, and then smacks her butt cheek with his palm, making her shriek and giggle in surprise.

“Stay down!” he commands. “Let me show you what I wanted to do to you...”

He takes a step back to unbutton his breeches, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it a few times before teasingly running the tip along her wet folds.

She moans lowly, spreading her legs wider apart. “You enjoy this little domination game, don’t you?” she says as she shoots him an exaggeratedly sultry look over her shoulder.

He slaps her backside once more and she yelps, this time his palm leaving a red mark on her skin. “Are you complaining?”

“Quite the contrary. I love when you push me to the point of surrender, and then ravish me...”

Her last word finishes in a moan as he enters her slowly, to allow her to adjust, to drag out the moment, that first gratifying thrust as he buries deep. With his hand curled around her braid, the other gripping her shoulder with a firm hold, he rocks his hips, her whimpers urging him to push harder and deeper each time.

The sound of their moans and the wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of her silky walls fill the room, covering the murmur of laughter and music coming from the reception area. She stretches her arms to grasp the edge of the desk, holding on for dear life as he slams into her.

“That night, I wanted you -- all of you,” he growls. Releasing her hair and her shoulder, he moves his hands down to take hold of her hips. Without warning, he pulls out of her and runs his cock, generously coated with her juices, between her cheeks. She gasps as he enters her again and his touch returns to the narrow cleft of her rear, where his thumb, slick with her own lubrication, presses firmly against the tightly clenched entrance there. For an instant, she is transported back to the rooftop garden of the Café-Théâtre, Ruddock’s weight heavy on her back, and she is fighting his prodding finger. With a lament, she wiggles in his hold and shakes her head to chase the memory out of her mind. _This is Arno, not Ruddock, and it feels good_ , she reminds herself, taking several deep breaths.

Gradually, he feels her tightly puckered entrance ease and allow the pad of his thumb to enter her slowly. She arches her back and cries out at the new sensation, an exquisite burn that accompanied the parting of her snug opening. She bites into her arm to stop herself from screaming too loudly as he resumes the relentless pumping of his cock, while pushing his thumb deeper still.

Abandoning herself to his possession, she begins to shiver and moan long and low, breathing out his name as her orgasm grips her, her walls writhing around his cock and her asshole clenching tightly around his deep sunk thumb.

The sound of her moaning his name sends him exploding into his own release, its delicious warmth spreading inside her.

As she lays utterly spent, her breathing ragged and her body trembling, he pulls his thumb out and bends over to rest his chest against her back, where his lips seek her neck, kissing and biting into her flesh while his own breathing gradually returns to normal.

“And that was just the beginning of my fantasy,” he whispers before pushing himself up. After pulling his cock out of her, he gives her ass cheek one more slap.

“It was… interesting, to say the least,” she giggles. “We’ll have to continue another day, when I’m not so pregnant! And this dress is now officially ruined, too,” she groans as she pushes on her hands to straighten her back. Her arms are like jelly, and she can feel his seed trickling down her legs.

After buttoning his breeches, he helps her neaten skirts.

“Time to get back out there with the most innocent look on your face!” he chuckles, his arms coiling around her waist and her stomach, stroking the budding roundness of her belly.

“It’ll be our dirty little secret…” she whispers, leaning back and tilting her head to kiss him.

* * *

**January 1st, 1796**

They danced, they laughed, they watched the fireworks, and for one evening, they were able to forget all their worries and their heartaches, and have innocent fun like they did before -- before the Revolution, before their world collapsed around them, before they became adults.

While Élise changes Julie and lays her down in her crib for the night, Arno lights up the fire in the fireplace to warm up the sitting room.

“Freedom at last!” she groans as she kicks off her shoes, half an hour later, reveling in the feeling of her bare feet on the hardwood floor. “I don’t understand why my mother was so fascinated by shoes; they are one of the most painful torture devices after boned stays!” She stops in her tracks when she sees him standing with his hands behind his back, looking tenderly at her. “Arno, what is it?”

“Your present!” he says timidly, as he hands her a leather binder which contained a stack of loose sheets of paper, and an assortment of pencils and charcoals for drawing.

She takes her present from his hands, running her fingers on the smooth brown leather -- no doubt it had been an expensive purchase. She was flattered by his delicate attention, but she also felt terribly embarrassed for not having anything to give him in return.

“You shouldn’t have!” she pouts. “I don’t have anything for you, for the second year in a row!”

He takes her by the waist to pull her closer, his thumbs stroking the sides of her wee baby bump. At around 13 weeks, she was showing a little more than when she was pregnant with Julie. And while they were experiencing a pregnancy for the second time, they still smiled in wonder when they first noticed the curve of her stomach.

“Let me repeat what I said last year: you are giving me the best present there is,” he says, staring deeply into her yes.

“And how much did you spend on this?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

He kisses her forehead softly. “Less than you think, and let’s not make this about money. With the twins coming, I know you will not be bored. However, I believe you have talent, you said you enjoy drawing, and you should allow yourself to pursue it whenever you have the chance. The children will grow so fast, don’t you want to keep drawings of them as memories?”

“You are a sweetheart, you know that?” She carefully sets the binder aside on the side table, and then throws her arms around his neck. “I don’t have a present for you, but I suppose…I suppose you can have me…”

As their lips meet for a deep kiss, his hands glide over her waist to rest on her back, while her hands thread in the hair at the back of his head. One by one, his agile fingers unbutton the small buttons of her dress. Halfway through, he stops, tearing his lips from hers to break the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asks with a frown.

“If I can be honest, I’m really tired, and I’d rather go to bed... to sleep!” he admits with a sheepish smile. It had been a very long day of work, and he was craving the warm comfort of his bed. New Year or not, the goats will be demanding his attention in a few hours, not to mention Julie-the-early-bird stirring them out of their sleep before sunrise.

“Well, if that’s any comfort… that makes two of us!” she chuckles.

He presses his lips to her nose, and rests their foreheads together. “Let’s go to bed, and cuddle, and fall asleep in each other’s arms, with my hands on your tiny belly…”

She hums in delight. “That sounds marvelous!”

He takes her head between his hands, placing small soft kisses on her cheeks and on her lips. “You looked beautiful today,” he murmurs, looking into her eyes again. “And yes, you were glowing. Especially after our little escapade...”

“Charmer!”

“Happy New Year, Élise. Last year, you said you were happy. I know the past year hasn’t been easy, but I hope you are still happy.”

She nods, gazing at his loving brown eyes. “We’ve had high highs and low lows. And this year, we'll more have babies, more goats, more money, more love. Yes, I’m happy. But what about you? Are you happy? The farm asked a lot from you, _I’ve_ asked a lot from you. And I know this year has been filled with heartaches, many of them my fault...”

“Yes, I am happy. To a new year, with less heartaches.” He presses his lips on hers once more, before they climb to their bedroom for a well-deserved sleep.

* * *

**February 20, 1796**

“Are you certain of when you conceived this child?” Elena asks with a frown of concern. She and Clara had just examined Élise, to conclude her pregnancy was progressing well, without anything out of the ordinary -- except the size of her belly.

Élise nervously fidgets with her cup of tea. “I can’t say for certain, but I think it might have been about 5 weeks before you told me I was pregnant. Why?”

“Because you are a bit big for 4 ½ months, even for a second pregnancy, and without having put on a lot of weight. Either we miscalculated, or…”

Élise looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Or…?”

“Or you might be carrying twins,” Elena concludes as she brings her cup of tea to her lips.

 _This is it, I’m really having twins!_ Élise represses a smile. “Oh, right… I have to say, I’ve always had a hunch for while about carrying twins. I can’t really explain it...”

“Are there twins in your family? Or in your husband’s family?” Clara asks, a large grin on her face. The prospect of her friend giving birth to twins was more than she could ever ask for as her first delivery, and she was both excited and frightened.

“I don’t know my family very well, and my husband’s family… it’s complicated,” Élise says with a shrug.

Elena stares at Élise, a grim look on her face. “You realize twins are dangerous for both mother and babies?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And that you might give birth early?”

“Do I have to stop working already?” Élise asks worriedly. She had felt more tired in general since the beginning of this pregnancy, assuming this difference was due to the combination of hard work and lack of sleep from having a young baby. While she felt fit enough to keep on working, the last thing she wanted to do was to put her babies in danger -- or herself.

Elena shakes her head. “No need for now. You haven’t had any bleedings? And your belly doesn’t feel hard from time to time?” Élise answers no to both questions. “Then you can continue working. But take it easy. It’s not the end of the world if your house isn’t kept. Your health and your babies’ health are more important. Have someone fetch us immediately if you are bleeding, even just a little, especially if your belly feels hard at the same time. You remember the false labor contractions, right? You remember how to tell them apart from real ones?”

Élise nods, remembering what the midwife had explained to her the year before. “Yes, if I can walk them off, it’s false labor…”

“Good. We certainly don’t want you to deliver too early; these babies need to stay nice and warm inside your womb for as long as possible! And for the love of God, eat more! Your babies need a lot of energy to grow!” Elena adds, swatting Élise’s arm with the back of her hand.

“I’m trying!’ Élise protests, laughing. “When I was pregnant with Julie, I was mostly sick in the morning, or if I’d be triggered by a particular smell. But this time around, it’s been a constant queasiness, day and night. And when I’d manage to eat something, often times it wouldn’t stay down.”

Elena nods appreciatively. “If you’ve been that sick, the more reasons to think you’re having twins! You might start to feel them move separately, one on the left and the other one on the right, for example. Or one is being very active in the morning, and the other one keeping you up at night!”

“The early bird and the night owl!” Élise says smiling fondly and stroking her belly. “I do feel a lot of movements from time to time, but I can’t tell if it’s one or the other.”

“We better go see our next baby, we’re already late,” Elena says after glancing at her watch. “Let us know if you’re unsure about anything, alright? Better be safe than sorry.”

After thanking the midwife and her apprentice and walking them to the door, Élise lets out a deep sigh and leans against the wall, her mind in a whirlwind of happiness, fear, and everything in between. A gentle tug at her skirts and a little voice saying “Mama!” pull her out of her contemplations. She looks down to see Julie grinning at her, trying to pull herself on her feet by gripping her mother’s skirts. Élise bends down and takes her baby’s hands in hers to help her up. Holding Julie steady with an arm around her back, she runs her fingers through the thin and delicate red locks.

“Well, Julie Bunny, it surely looks like you’re getting two little brothers in a few months! Are you excited about being a big sister?”

The baby squeals and buries her head in her mother’s chest, making Élise smile.

“Yes, Baby Bunny, I love you too,” she says, hugging her daughter.

* * *

Élise gets off her chair and walks to the counter to pour herself another bowl of soup.

“Someone is hungry!” Arno notes as she sits back at the table.

She breaks a piece of bread and dips it in her soup. “I was told today by the midwife I had to eat more…” she says as she bites into her bread.

He rolls his eyes. _FINALLY! Someone said it and she listened!_ “There was no need for the midwife to tell you that, you just have to listen to me!”

“She said I had to eat more because…” She sits back in her chair, thrusting her belly forward. “She thinks I’m having twins!”

He glances at her in surprise, breaking into a large grin. “Does she? You are much bigger than with Julie, for sure. And before you take this the wrong way, I’m not saying you are fat!”

“You better!” she replies. She rests her hands on her belly, touching it and pressing it at various places. “She noticed today I was a bit bigger than expected, and after I explained how sick I’ve been, she said it’s very well possible there are two babies in there.”

She pauses an instant, her eyes suddenly gloomy. “It’s happening, it’s really happening…”

He reaches to smooth her hair and caress her cheek. “I promised we’ll do everything we can to not let your vision happen,” he reassures.

She turns to meet his gaze, tender and loving, and tears well in her eyes. _Oh Arno, I can’t do this without you. Stay strong for me, my love._ “Can we really do this? Two babies at a time? And Julie who will be barely a year old?”

Two babies to care for, while their first child was still a baby, the work on the farm keeping him away from the house for most of the day: yes, it will be difficult. _But together, we can get through this. Have faith._ “We have money coming, and let’s not forget we have help coming, too. You know you can count on Madeleine!”

“I know. It’s all so… overwhelming!”

She closes her eyes, tears dropping off her cheeks. It was one thing to have a hunch about carrying twins -- but hearing the confirmation was another. And the looming threat to the family she saw in her vision wasn’t helping to ease her mind.

“We’ll get through this. We always do,” he says, patting her belly with his hand.

She forces a smile, drying her tears. _We’ll get through this. We always do,_ she repeats.

* * *

**March 8, 1796**

> My dearest child,
> 
> Blimey, another baby on the way! You and Arno certainly don’t like to waste any time, do you? What can I say -- I can’t blame you. Children are a gift, even the unexpected ones. Children are life itself, they keep you going when you think everything is lost.
> 
> Please accept my most sincere apologies for not being able to make it on time for little Julie’s first birthday in April. However, I assure you, we will be with you during the first or second week of May, plenty of time ahead of the birth of your second child. Madeleine and I, we wouldn’t want to miss this for the world. I cannot wait to meet him or her, and as you can imagine, I cannot wait to meet little Julie at last, and spend the summer with her.
> 
> Take good care of yourself, little Julie, and Arno.
> 
> We’ll see each other soon.
> 
> With all my love,
> 
> F.W.

With a deep sigh, Élise slips the letter back in her pocket. May seemed so far away -- two long months until she can see her old advisor again. What will he think of her and her new life? Will he be proud, or will he be ashamed of what she has become? Will he fall in love with Julie and adopt her as his own granddaughter, like she hoped he would? She glances at Julie who is standing on her wobbly legs, holding herself up by gripping the edge of the side table, taking one hesitant step at a time. _How can he not fall in love with you?_

She shifts position on the sofa, curling her feet under her. Her back is aching, and her belly feels tense. She was busy preparing tonight’s soup when the letter arrived, and it gave her the perfect excuse for a break from standing on her feet.

“Ow!” she yelps, as she feels strong kicks on both sides of her belly at the same time. “Hey, no fighting in there! My womb, my rules. And as long as you are living under this roof, you better listen to me!”

She picks up her binder and her pencil to continue a drawing. On the paper, a tender scene where Arno is holding Julie in his arms is taking shape. As she concentrates on her pencil scratching the paper, she notices from the corner of her eye Julie taking a few steps on her own from the side table to the arm of the sofa.

Élise gasps in surprise, dropping her pencil.  

“Did you just walk on your own, Julie Bunny? Show mama again!”

She sets her drawing aside and gets up from the sofa, taking her daughter’s hands in hers to help her walk back to the table, where Julie grabs the edge to keep herself upright. Élise then takes a few steps back and kneels on the floor, holding her hands out in front of her.

“Come to me, come to mama!” she says, wiggling her fingers to encourage Julie to walk to her.

Hesitant and unsteady, the baby takes the three steps needed to close the gap between the table and her mother’s arms. Her heart filled with pride, and her eyes filled with tears, Élise hugs her daughter tightly. “My baby girl is growing up so fast! I’m so proud of you!” She kisses her forehead, and then picks her up in her arms. “How about we show your papa what you can do? Let’s go see papa and the baby goats!”

In the barn, Arno doesn’t know which way to turn. They welcomed six baby goats over the past week, and it was just the beginning. Ensuring every doe was ready for milking was proving to be a challenge with their kids bouncing around and getting in the way, and he was grateful for Brioche’s help.

“Arno! Julie wants to show you something!” Élise calls as she enters the barn, wearing a beaming smile on her face.

“I’m busy…” he grumbles from alongside Cannelle, both hands pulling on the teats as a steady stream of milk flows into the pail places underneath.

“It’s important!” she retorts, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “I know you are busy my love, but this is your daughter we are talking about, and she wants to show you something!”

He lets out a deep, loud sigh. Giving Cannelle’s flank a gentle pat to signal he was done, he meets Élise by the door. He looked tired -- and he was. He couldn’t wait to finish milking the goats, sit down for a good meal, play with his daughter, and spend the rest of the evening with Élise cuddling by the fireplace, until it was time to go to bed. “Alright, alright. What is it Sweet Pea?” he says, forcing a smile.

She bends down to set Julie on her feet on the floor, holding her tiny hands in hers. She gives the baby a kiss on the cheek, before letting go of one hand then the other. “Come on Bunny, show your papa what you can do!” she coos.

Becoming aware of what exactly he was about to witness, he crouches a few steps back from his daughter, and he glows with pride and happiness as he watches his precious baby girl takes her first steps towards him.

“My Sweet Pea can walk!” he says, scooping her up in his arms and covering her cheeks with kisses. “I’m so proud of you! And now I’ll have to teach you to climb too!” His exhaustion and his haste to finish the work for today was instantly forgotten; his little girl was walking!

“I told you it was important!” she teases with a smirk. The pride she saw in his eyes was worth all the interruptions in the world.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he sighs. “It’s a bit… overwhelming with the kids popping right and left!” He kisses Julie once more before handing her back to Élise.

“How do you think I will feel with the twins, and this one? I’ll leave you to work then. Julie and I are going to practice our walking!”

He reaches to touch her arm, and she smiles at him.

“Soup will be on the table in an hour,” she says as she sets Julie on her feet again. Holding the baby by the hands, they walk out of the barn, one tentative step at a time.

* * *

**March 17, 1796**

After feeding Julie and settling her down for her nap, Élise is giving Arno hand. She can only tackle very light work, as her back is hurting and her ribs are sore, but she enjoys working with him and being around the animals, a welcomed change from staying inside the four walls of the house.

She felt her belly tensing up on several occasions the past few days, and each time pacing around the room for a few minutes seemed to ease of the contractions. _It’s a little early for false labor, isn’t it?_ she worried.

As she swipes the floor, ignoring the twinge in her belly and her achy back and ribs, she suddenly feels wetness between her legs. Discreetly, she reaches under her skirt. When she pulls them out, her fingers are covered with blood.

She begins to tremble and sweat, panic and fear rising up within her. _The babies. The babies. I can’t lose the babies._ “Arno?” she laments, her throat clenching tight leaving her gasping for air.

Her panicked voice immediately caught his attention, and a deep frown creases his forehead upon seeing her blood-drained face. “What’s going on?”

She holds her fingers in front of her, and his eyes widen in alarm.

“It’s okay, keep calm,” he says as he holds her tightly against him. “Shhhh…Breathe, Élise, breathe…” In the pit of his stomach, the same panic and fear were surging, but he couldn’t let them take over.

“I don’t want to lose the babies!” she sobs, her hands gripping at the lapels of his shirt, leaving blood smudges.

He takes her head between his hands, staring deeply into her teary eyes. “You won’t. You saw them alive as adults, didn’t you?” he says with a smile, trying to reassure her.

 _He has to be right. They have to survive. Everything will be okay. Breathe Élise, breathe…_ She takes a deep breath, and then nods. Little by little, she can breathe easier, and her heart stops pounding in her chest.

“Let’s get you in bed, and I’ll go find the midwife.”

With his arm around her shoulder, they slowly walk back to the house, where he tucks her comfortably in bed. Each of his movements is calm and unaffected, but internally, fear is tearing his gut apart.

“How about you continue your nap with mama?” he murmurs to a sleepy Julie as he gently lays her next to Élise. “I’ll be right back with the midwife,” he says to Élise, running his hand in her hair. The goats would have to wait; everything else would have to wait.

* * *

They came as fast as they could. Arno had to knock on several doors in the village before he finally found them paying a routine visit to a new mother and her baby.

After Elena verified the status of Élise’s cervix, it was Clara’s turn.

“You feel how low it is? And you can still feel the plug,” Elena explains. There was no imminent threat of a miscarriage, but the danger of giving birth before the babies are viable outside her womb was real.

Clara nods, coming to the same conclusions. She pulls Élise’s skirts back down after she was finished examining her.

Elena straightens up and lightly touches Élise’s arm to get her attention. “Today was your last working day, you must stay in bed from now on.”

Élise’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. “How am I going to care for Julie if I’m in bed all day? She’s walking now, I have to keep an eye on her at all times otherwise she gets into trouble. And I have to cook, and clean...”

Elena shakes her head vehemently. “Keeping those babies in your womb until they are ready is your priority. The house can wait. But I realize it’s a problem with another young child to care for. Is there anyone who could help you?”

Élise ponders for a moment, and then looks at Clara. “I don’t think I can ask your mother to care for Julie every day for the next 3 to 4 months!”

Clara winces. “She’d be happy to help, but that’s indeed a long period of time. Let me think…Oh, I might have an idea!” she exclaims after a short moment of thinking. “My friend Marianne is looking for work to help her family. She has seven younger brothers and sisters, she’s used to being around children.”

“I don’t know if we can afford to pay her,” Élise confesses. “Times are tough for everyone! I have to speak with Arno, I’m not sure of the state of our finances at the moment.”

Easier times were around the corner, but until Freddie comes to visit and hands her the envelope containing the money from the sale of her properties, or until they welcome travelers looking for a place to stay, every coin they were making was already stretched to the maximum.

“I’m sure you can agree on a wage,” Clara reassures. “I can ask her tonight, and perhaps she can come over tomorrow? You and Arno can meet her, and little Julie too. I’m certain you’ll love her. She works really hard, and she can help around the farm too.”

Élise leans her head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, the reality of her precarious situation sinking in. “I’m the mother; I’m supposed to care for my child, not have someone else do it! What kind of mother does that make me…” she grumbles in frustration.

“The kind who is doing what is best for her unborn children. They deserve a chance to live, too. You need to do what’s necessary to save your babies,” Elena insists, squeezing Élise’s arm.

Élise lets out a deep sigh, her heart torn between her daughter and her unborn sons. Not being able to care for her daughter felt like a failure, a failure as a mother. On the other hand, she had to ensure she carries her sons to term -- letting them down would be a failure, too. “Can I at least go downstairs to eat?” she asks, in an attempt to negotiate a few hours of freedom for herself, out of the prison that this room she knew would become.

Elena smiles warmly. “Yes, you can go downstairs until I tell you otherwise, but you can’t stay on your feet. You need to sit down immediately, with your feet up. You cannot cook anything yourself, do you hear me? It’s important that you stay in a lying position, otherwise the babies will move further down, and you might give birth too early.”

“Three months in bed until I give birth, then another month in bed _after_ I give birth…I’ll be seeing a lot of these four walls…” Élise says, looking around the room, her lips curled in a bitter smirk. _It’s going to be very long months_...

* * *

**March 18, 1796**

Sitting in bed, Élise has her ears peeled, listening to Arno’s voice as he shows Marianne around the house. The young woman had wholeheartedly accepted Clara’s suggestion, and she knocked on their door first thing the following morning. They arrive in the couple’s bedroom while Élise mindlessly plays with Julie, who is snuggled up next to her.

“And here is my wife, Élise, and our daughter Julie,” Arno says, gesturing towards the bed.

Marianne shakes Élise’s hand and smiles politely. “Good morning, pleased to meet you.” Short and plump, with smooth black hair, Marianne was the exact physical opposite of Clara. But in her eyes, there was the same kindness.

Élise returns her smile. “Pleased to meet you, Marianne. Julie? Say hello to Marianne. Are you going to be shy?” she says as Julie giggles and buries her head in her mother’s lap, looking furtively at the stranger.

“Hello Julie!” Marianne coos. “How old is she?”

“Eleven months, her birthday is in one month exactly!” Arno chimes in. He was watching the scene from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, scrupulously observing Élise and Julie’s reactions as they meet Marianne for the first time.

“Babies her age are always afraid of strangers,” Marianne says, reaching to caress the baby’s head. “But you don’t seem to be afraid of me, are you Julie?”

“Do you want to hold her?” Élise asks, her heart already warm for Marianne. But the ultimate test would be Julie’s reaction to her new babysitter.

“Of course!” The younger girl carefully lifts Julie and holds her gently, but all the infant does is stare at her curiously, her thumb in her mouth. “We’re going to play together while your mama is resting. Do you want to play? Can she walk already?”

Élise nods. “She’s still not very stable on her feet, I have to watch her constantly so she doesn’t fall and hurt herself. When she’s not trying to walk, she is crawling all over the place, getting in all sorts of trouble.”

Marianne chuckles as she sways Julie in her arms. “My little brother was the same. He was driving me and mother completely off the wall!”

Arno places a hand on Marianne’s shoulder. “You can take her downstairs and get to know one another. I’ll speak with Élise in the meantime.”

“As you wish. Come, Julie!”

“What do you think?” Arno asks after Marianne left the room.

Élise nods thoughtfully. “Julie seems to like her, and you know how shy she can be with strangers.”

“I explained some tasks I’d like her to help me with, I showed her the guest house, and she had a look at the kitchen. She seemed interested and eager. I have a good feeling about her. What about you?”

“Never judge a book by the cover, but I like her,” she says with a smile. “Maybe we can hire her for a few weeks, and see how it goes? Do you know how much she’s asking?”

“We’ve discussed it briefly, and we agreed on a fair wage. I don’t want to underpay her, It’s going to be hard work. We can afford her help, don’t worry about that. Focus on the babies.”

“I’m scared…” she murmurs, her voice breaking. Just as with Julie, the prospect of facing a whole army on her own felt less of a challenge than facing giving birth, even more so with the high risk this pregnancy represented.

He takes her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “You and the babies will be fine. Your vision hasn’t changed, as it?”

She shakes her head wearily. “No, it hasn’t -- fortunately, and unfortunately. They are alive, but they are still fighting…” she sighs. Every time she closes her eyes, with her hands on her belly, trying to communicate with the babies in her womb, she can’t sense anything else than conflict. In contrast, when she was pregnant with Julie, she only ever sensed peace.

“There is still time to make it change. As long as they are alive.”

“I’ll be bored…” she moans, rolling her eyes.

He chuckles, touching the bridge of her nose with his fingertip. “Good thing I bought you all those pencils then! And I'm glad I've had my watch repaired last year. You can have it again, so you don’t lose track of time.”

“And I won’t be able to spend as much time with Julie as I should… I’m her mother… She needs me…” she groans in frustration. She didn’t dare admit it to herself -- or to anyone for that matter -- but after having had such a difficult time bonding with her daughter in the beginning, the thought of Julie growing up and ever leaving her side to spread her wings was now almost unbearable. _I want my baby girl to stay with me. Always._

“You can still tell her stories, and take naps with her, and play in bed with her. She still needs your milk, you haven’t weaned her yet. Marianne is not going to take her away from you; she’ll just make sure nothing happens to her while you have to stay up here.”

A faint smile appears on her lips. _Arno, why are you always right?_ “Why did I have to get twins?”

“Because only strong women have twins,” he retorts, trying to lift her spirits.

She scoffs. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Shall I tell Marianne she’s hired? Do you want her to start today?”

“Yes. For a trial period. Then we can decide.”

“Alright. I’ll see you at dinner.” He caresses her belly for a brief moment, hoping to feel a kick, in vain. “Be good to your mother, boys,” he says, bending to kiss the top of her belly.

* * *

**March 19, 1796**

It’s the middle of the night, but Élise is unable to fall asleep. She lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her tiredness to overcome her, to no avail. Surrounded by silence, she feels anxious and edgy, and the constant movements of the babies in her belly weren’t helping. _Why am I always such an emotional mess when I’m pregnant? Lying awake in the middle of the night, the panic attacks, and the restlessness._

Realizing that she won't manage to fall asleep until she has calmed down, she shakes Arno awake.

“Arno?

“Is it morning already?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Hold me, please… I’m scared,” she murmurs as she moves closer to him.

“Alright…” he yawns, too sleepy to protest. He slips his arms around her shoulders, smiling as her belly presses against his stomach.

She tucks her head into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “Thank you...”

He grumbles incomprehensibly, already falling asleep again. Suddenly, he feels a faint pressure on his stomach. “Did I just get kicked?” he asks, all at once very awake. “Did my own son kick me?”

“I believe he did!” she says with a chuckle.

He feels yet another discreet poke at his stomach, a little more to the left this time around.

“And that would be his brother throwing a punch!” she comments. “Or it’s the same baby night owl moving around, while his brother is asleep.”

As he tightens his embrace around her, they both sigh in content. _Everything will be alright._

Soon enough, soothed by his gentle breathing, her anxiety slips out, and sleep creeps in.


	20. Mother Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for taking so long to finish this chapter! As you know, I've been quite busy the past weeks... It's perhaps not my best work, and serves very much as a bridge to the next chapter, but hopefully the headcanons I've thrown in there will spark some discussion... ;-)
> 
> (And yes... I'm illustrating this chapter with my own art this time... be kind! LOL)

Baby Bunny

**April 17, 1796**

The days are slowly passing one by one as Élise works on a layette for the twins. Her pencils are never far from her reach, and boredom even drives her to pick up her knitting needles from time to time. Her favorite moments of the day are when Julie needs to be fed, and when it’s time for her afternoon nap. With her daughter by her side, she feels content, despite her confinement. “If only someone could invent a… thing, so I wouldn’t have to make everything by hand!” she often complains to Marianne, or to Marcera whenever she drops by for a cup of tea and a chat.

Marianne’s jolly nature is either cheering Élise up, or ruffling her feathers, depending on her mood. And today, she feels impatient and restless: it’s spring, the sun is shining and nature is in bloom, but in her eyes there is only sorrow. Out the window, she stares at the mountains in the distance. _I’ve been lying here for only a month, and I’m already losing my mind_ , she muses. _I can’t let my sons down. I’m their mother; I must care for them, even before they are born_. _Oh Mother, did you have to keep me safe and warm in your womb the way I have to do with my sons? Were you able to see into the future the way I seem to be able to? If so, what did you see when you were pregnant with me? I wish you were here, more than ever. I have too many questions, and no answers. Speak to me, guide me, help me..._

Julie’s loud cries suddenly pull her out of her thoughts. Élise’s brow knots into a deep frown and her heart wrings at the sound of her baby crying. She hears hurried footsteps as Marianne climbs the stairs with Julie in her arms. The little girl is crying out for her mother, and none of Marianne’s attempts at comforting the baby seem to have any effect.

“What’s going on, why is Julie wailing like that?” Élise says harshly as Marianne enters the room.

“I’m so sorry, I turned around to go back to the kitchen, and she must have fallen and hit her head…”

“Mama!” Julie screams, her little arms flailing about when she sees her mother, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Give me my child!” Élise ordered, her heart breaking. She reaches out and takes the baby, cradling her daughter against her chest, her little body shaken by loud gasping sobs.

“Shhhh Bunny, mama is here.” She gently rocks the baby in her arms, whispering softly in her ear. Marianne stands next to the bed, wringing her hands in her apron, and staring at her feet. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I was watching her, but…” Her lower lip quivers as she fights back her tears. She is afraid to lose her job; after all they were very clear about only hiring her temporarily, until she can prove herself. She feels responsible for the accident, and she knows this mistake is more than enough reasons for her to be sent home at once.

“I’m indeed paying you to watch her so this sort of things doesn’t happen,” Élise hisses. “Now, please go see if Arno needs you, and leave me alone with my child.”

“As… as you wish…” Marianne stammers, taking a shaky breath before she turns around and walks away.

In Élise’s arms, Julie’s cries have gradually turned into whimpers and hiccups.

“Are you hurt, Baby Bunny? Let me see…” Élise inspects the baby’s head for any signs of injuries. “Yes, there’s a little bump on your forehead,” she comments as she feels a faint swelling on the right side. “My poor baby. I don’t want you to experience pain, ever. Not the way I did.” She stares into her daughter’s teary eyes, and she can’t resist wiping the tears from her cheeks with her thumb. “Are you hungry? It’s time to eat, isn’t it? And then it’ll be time for our nap!”

She pulls on the ties of her chemise and uncovers her breast, offering her nipple to her daughter. With a nod and a coo, the baby immediately latches at her breast. Élise knew her baby had to be hungry, as it was well past noon, but the act of feeding her at this precise moment primarily served the purpose of calming and comforting both mother and daughter. With a tummy full with milk, Julie yawns and her eyes flutter, and just as Élise lays the baby next to her for their nap, Arno enters the room.

“Why did you send Marianne away? And why did you speak to her like that?” he barks, slamming the door shut behind him and glaring at Élise with his arms crossed over his chest.

Startled by her father’s loud entrance, Julie whimpers and fusses, looking at her mother for reassurance.

“Not so loud. Julie needs to sleep!” Élise snaps. She caresses the baby’s cheek to calm her down.

“You had no right to be mean to her!” he retorts in the same tone.

“Julie fell and hurt herself. My child got hurt! I don’t want anything to happen to my child while I’m trapped between the walls of this room! Can’t you understand?” She breaks into sobs, pulling Julie closer to hug her tightly.

With a deep sigh, he uncrosses his arms, then closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. _When will the mood swings and tears be over? Keep calm, Arno. It’s not her fault. And this isn’t about the accident. There’s something she’s not telling me,_ he thinks to himself as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He prudently reaches to touch her shoulder, and to his surprise, she doesn’t push him away. “I know, I know… I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he says softly, stroking her shoulder and her arm to comfort her. Little by little, her sobs quiet down, and she plants small kisses on the baby’s cheeks and hugs her one more time before letting her go.

“It hasn’t been a month, and I’m already losing my mind…” she sniffles, drying her eyes.

“You know, you are a little bit overprotective of Julie!” he says with a chuckle.

“I’m not!”

“Élise…”

“Alright, I suppose I am,” she says with a sheepish smile. She turns to the baby lying next to her, wide brown eyes framed by long, red eyelashes staring back at her. “How can I not be protective of this precious little girl? She’s my baby, my daughter, my first born. She helped me heal and grow, she saved my life, she means the world to me…”

“There’s something else upsetting you, I can feel it.” He hesitates a moment before asking: “You’re thinking of your mother, am I right?”

She closes her eyes and sighs, nodding. “I can’t really hide it, can I?” She rolls to her back and pulls herself up to a sitting position. “Yes, every year, around the same time... I think of what she told me before she died – what I must do, and how proud she was. And now with Julie being born just a day after the anniversary of her death… Do you think it means something?” she asks, staring into his eyes, searching for an answer. Alone with her thoughts most of the day, she had all the time of the world the past month to speculate about grand designs and hidden meanings. _Why did my vision about my future change at the last minute? Why was Julie born almost at the same time as my mother died? Is it all God’s plan? Is my only duty in life to be a wife and a mother?_

He shrugs, frowning. “It can be a coincidence. A simple and fortunate coincidence.”

She looks down at her hands on her lap, a disappointed look on her face. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want anything happening to my baby. I can’t let anything happen to Julie, I could never forgive myself...”

“And Marianne is caring for her as best she can. You must apologize to her; she was extremely upset when she came to me.”

“But it’s nap time…” she whispers, pointing at Julie who has fallen asleep. “Alright, I will apologize. Send her upstairs when you see her. With something to eat, if there’s anything left. I was so upset myself I forgot...”

“I will,” he says with a warm smile. “And I’ll see you tonight. I love you both, my beautiful girls.”

He leans over for a kiss before going back to work, leaving Élise heavyhearted to watch over Julie’s sleep.

* * *

**April 18, 1796**

When Arno joins her in the bedroom for the night, Élise is sitting on the armchair by the window, humming a lullaby to Julie curled up in her arms, the baby’s head resting on her shoulder. She smiles at him, and carefully gets up to her feet, wincing in discomfort. Her back and her ribs are as painful as ever, and the forced inactivity of the last month isn’t helping, to the point that she couldn’t bend over the crib anymore.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year!” she says in a low voice, smiling fondly at her daughter. “Look at how big she is now. And everything she can do on her own. Our baby is growing up…”

He takes the baby from Élise’s arms, and after kissing Julie’s forehead, he gently lays her down in her crib for the night.

“I still feel terrible for missing it all...” he says as he pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and tucks her in, placing her cuddling doll within her reach. He shudders as he recalls the stressful day when Élise went into labor, hoping and praying that mother and baby would survive.

She comes closer and slips her arm around his waist, as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “You’ve missed a lot of me screaming in pain, and a lot of blood. Nothing very interesting, to be honest!” she chuckles.

He shakes his head. “I’ve missed seeing her take her first breath, I’ve missed hearing her first cry, I’ve missed being able to hold your hand and comfort you when you were in pain. I’ve missed…I’ve missed you almost dying,” he adds with a deep sigh, looking into her green eyes. “When Marcera told me there were complications, it felt like someone punched the air right out of my lungs, I went numb... I swear to God, I will _not_ miss anything of the birth of our sons. Nothing and no one will keep me from staying at your side.”

“And the farm? You can’t just drop everything!” Deep down, she wished nothing else than Arno staying with her as she goes into labor. But work on a farm never stops, and it was their choice, after all.

“Marianne can help. I’ve been showing her the ropes, and by the time you give birth, I’m confident she can take over for a day or two while I stay with you.”

“May I remind you we hired her to help _me_ , not _you_?”

“And to help me too! Plus, Madeleine will be here within a month. She will be our guest, but you remember how eager she was to care for our baby? Knowing her, she won’t be able to stop herself from taking over the household!”

“Do you want to keep Marianne?” she asks with a frown.

The trial period they had agreed upon had passed, and it was time to make their decision. To Arno, she had been the farm help he desperately needed at times: despite her short stature, she was incredibly strong, and no task was too dirty or too difficult for her.

“Yes, I do,” he nods. “She’s shown to be reliable, hard-working, she adores Julie and Julie loves her. What about you?”

She gazes at Julie in her crib, her mother heart breaking at the sight of the bruise on her temple from falling and hitting her head on the chair. She knew she couldn’t blame Marianne for the accident. And she was grateful for Marianne’s chirpy chatter, a ray of sunshine on her gloomy and isolated days, alone in her room.

“Yes. I want her to stay. She’s great company, and she’s been a tremendous help around the house. And as you say, she adores Julie, and Julie loves her. What else could I ask for?”

“I’ll tell her the good news tomorrow morning!” He hooks his finger under her chin and lifts her head until their eyes meet. “And you, Madame Dorian, it’s time you go lie down. You’ve been on your feet for too long already!”

“I hate it when you’re ordering me around, especially when you’re right!” she groans.

He helps her in bed, and arranges the pillows the way she likes, making sure she is comfortable.

“Would you pass me the almond oil bottle? It’s on the changing table,” she asks while pulling her chemise up, uncovering her well-rounded belly.

“What do you need this for?”

“To keep my poor belly’s skin as soft and supple as possible, while it swells beyond recognition!” she explains, stroking her belly with both hands. “It’s not quite working, I’m afraid. My skin is cracking everywhere. I’m not even at the 7 months mark, but it feels like I’m already as big as I was with Julie at 9 months. I’ll never look the same after this pregnancy…”

“But I will love you the same, and perhaps even more. You’ll be the courageous mother of my daughter and my sons, after all. Let me help…” After planting a kiss on the scar below her navel, he opens the small bottle of oil, tipping a few drops in the palm of his hand. It smelled of sweet almond and rose water. He warms the oil by rubbing his palms together, and then gently runs his hands over her belly in large circular motions.

“This feels good!” she hums in delight. “You have such a soft touch for a man with such scarred and calloused hands!”

He breaks into a wide grin as he feels the occasional thumping of the babies against his hands. “You’re not the only one enjoying; they are quite active in there! I can even _see_ them moving! Was that... a foot?”

She chuckles. “One has been trampling my bladder for the last few days, while the other has been kicking me in the ribs. It’s painful, it’s annoying, but they are both alive and moving, and that’s all the reassurance I need. If only they could stay nice and warm inside my womb for at least another 2 months…”

He meets her gaze, smiling reassuringly. “They will. Have faith.”

He continues to delicately knead the oil into her skin, smiling and giggling each time he feels one of the babies move, and she closes her eyes, his caresses bringing a haze of relaxation with them. When he is done, he pulls her chemise down over her belly, and after quickly washing his hands, he undresses and slips under the bed covers. With a yawn, she rolls over to her side and he pulls her close, her belly firmly pressed against his stomach. Their lips meet for a long, slow kiss, their tongues lazily brushing against one another.

“Sleep well, my love,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “And boys -- go to sleep. Your mother needs to rest,” he adds, his hand stroking her belly.

“I think one is asleep. The other has the hiccup, it seems.”

She settles comfortably in his arms, tucking her head under his chin as he nuzzles her hair.

“Élise?” he asks after a long moment. “Did you ever wonder what illness killed your mother?”

“Gee, you’re one smooth pillow-talker!” she snorts. “Of course. I was so young, they never explained anything to me. Why the sudden interest in my mother?”

“Simply… wondering. You never talk about what killed her.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” she says with a shrug. “It’s an unfair illness that robbed her from her life. She was barely 40 years old...”

“And you never suspected foul play?”

She pulls her head back, a puzzled look on her face. “Arno, what in the hell are you saying? That someone killed her? That she was poisoned or something?”

“Maybe? You told me Ruddock tried to murder her. You told me she asked you on her deathbed to stand by your father against the voices rising from within the Order. By eliminating your mother, your father’s position would be weakened. And you’d be too young at the time to represent a threat.”

She opens and closes her mouth several times, words eluding her. “Wow. I… never considered her words and her death from this angle. I’m speechless. How long have you been brooding over this?”

“Only recently. When I finally accepted my own mother’s fate, it made me wonder about yours. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near her room, I only know what you’ve told me about the circumstances surrounding her death, and what she said to you. And when I added everything else…”

She tucks her head back under his chin, frowning and chewing her lip. “It’s starting to look like a puzzle which needs solving. I must speak with Freddie when he visits. Perhaps he knows something…”

“I hope I didn’t wake up Élise-the-vengeful-daughter. You know revenge will get you nowhere, my love.”

She closes her eyes and rubs her cheek against his bare chest, smooth skin and soft hair, breathing him in. “No, Élise-the-vengeful-daughter is sound asleep. And Élise-the-future-mother-of-twins is too exhausted to even consider revenge at the moment.”

He kisses the top of her head once more, tightening his arms around her. “Good. I love you. Sleep well.”

 _Was my mother murdered after all? By whom?_ she wonders. _I have to find out. Freddie must know something._ Exhausted, and comforted by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, she falls asleep.

* * *

**May 8, 1796**

As almost every day since she’s been ordered to stay in bed, Élise is painstakingly working on the twins’ layette and on summery clothes for Julie, who is napping next to her.

The sound of hooves grew louder as horses trotted up to the house. At once, she drops her sewing into her lap, her heart beating hard in her chest in excitement. _Could it be…?_

As she hears familiar voices, there was no mistake about who stepped out of the carriage.

After carefully getting out of bed, she throws a robe over her shoulders. “God forbid Freddie would say I don’t look decent…” she chuckles, thinking back of her adventure in London, when she misunderstood his question and revealed herself in May’s nightgown, much to Weatherall’s dismay.

She picks up Julie and holds her against her chest. “Wakey wakey, Julie Bunny! Our visitors are here!” she coos, placing small kisses on her cheeks. The baby stares groggily at her mother, before laying her head on her shoulder. “You’re not going to continue sleeping, are you?”

With a slumbering Julie in her arms, Élise steps out of the front door into the yard, ignoring the pain in her back, ignoring the voice inside her head telling her she should stay in bed. Nothing was going to keep her away from seeing her old advisor and friend. By the carriage, Madeleine is hugging Arno like a mother who is seeing her child after a long absence, while Marianne is timidly introducing herself to Weatherall, who earnestly shakes her hand.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Élise standing a little way away, and his expression changes from surprised to filled with emotion. The young woman he said goodbye to in Saint-Cyr the year before was no more: she was now Élise the mother, and the resemblance with her own mother was striking. Yet, even with a baby in her arms and dressed in simple clothing, she looked fierce as ever, and he couldn’t be more proud.

“Élise! My child! Look at you!” Weatherall exclaims, his open arms resting on his crutches, opened as wide as his grin. She returns his smile and throws herself in his embrace, almost knocking down his crutches with her belly. Caught between them in their embrace, Julie whimpers as if she was about to start crying.

“I know what you are thinking!” Élise says as she pulls away to readjust Julie in her arms, and kiss her baby’s cheek. “You’ve never seen me this fat, and you’re dying to ask: ‘ _Are you sure there’s just one in there?’_ “

“Well, are you sure there’s just one in there?” Weatherall says, pointing at her belly.

“The midwife says it’s quite possible I’m carrying twins!” she announces cheerfully, her words catching Madeleine’s attention.

“Blimey! Twins?” he chortles. “You’ll fill this house in no time, at this rate! Now don’t just stand there, aren’t you going to introduce us to this lovely little lady?”

“This lovely little lady here is our baby Julie!” Élise says, bouncing and swaying her daughter in her arms. “Julie, meet Uncle Freddie and Aunt Madeleine! Say hello!” she adds, waving her hand to encourage her to do the same. But instead, Julie hides her face in her mother’s neck. “Excuse her, she’s a bit shy, and I just woke her up from her nap!”

Weatherall dismisses Élise’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about me, little Julie. I’m just a grumpy old man. She’s a beautiful child, Élise.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off the little brown-eyed redhead in Élise’s arms, fascinated as he was recognizing both Arno and Élise in her, along with some other family traits.

“Hello Mademoiselle Julie, aren’t you adorable! Oh Madame Élise, how I’ve missed you! And you look beautiful as always!” Madeleine says, opening her arms for a hug.

Élise hugs the older woman back. “It’s so good to see you again Madeleine!”

“Monsieur Arno seems well fed; you’ve been taking good care of him?”

“Of course I have. Although, I’m sure he missed your cooking in the beginning!”

“And that beard…” Madeleine adds under her breath, discreetly elbowing Élise’s arm while casting a side look towards Arno.

Élise glances at Arno, who was unloading the carriage with Marianne’s help. “It suits him well, don’t you think?” Élise chuckles. “And please, drop the formalities, you are not our employee anymore, you are our guest!”

“I can’t promise this, Madame Élise, I’m too used to calling you like that! And I know I’m not working for you anymore, but you see, it’s a habit I have…”

“Élise, shouldn’t you go lie down?” Arno calls from the carriage, as he motions to Marianne he didn’t need her help anymore.

“Is there something wrong with the pregnancy?” Madeleine asks, her eyes wide in concern and her hands flying to her cheeks.

Élise nods. “Twins mean there is a risk I’ll deliver early. I have to stay in bed, and to be honest, it’s driving me insane!”

“You? Lying still? Impossible!” Weatherall scoffs playfully.

“If our guests would follow me inside, I’ll help you settle, and make you some tea,” Marianne says to Freddie and Madeleine. “Élise, perhaps you can lie down on the sofa. Do you want to come with me, Julie?”

Marianne takes the baby from Élise’s arms, and followed by Madeleine, she goes back inside to prepare some tea and a light meal for their certainly famished guests.

“You’ve got yourself a maid?” Weatherall teases as he slowly hobbles on his crutches, Élise following suit with a hand pressed to the small of her back, and the other on her belly.

“Don’t call her that! No, she’s not my maid,” Élise protests. “She was looking for work to help her family, and we needed help while I ordered to rest. She cares for Julie, she cooks, she cleans. And she helps Arno around the farm, too.”

“Sounds like a maid to me. She seems a little more self-assured and well-mannered than Hélène.”

“How is my dear Hélène? Her last letter dates from quite a while back. I haven’t really been able to write much since Julie is born, as you probably noticed yourself. Our days are quite filled with a baby and the farm!” _Have we already grown apart, Hélène and me?_ she often wondered. In a way, their current lives were not so different: working to make a living, being with the man they love, taking good care of their household. But she sensed there was a certain distance settling between them, beyond the fact that they were now living hundreds of miles away, and she couldn’t put her finger on the reason for this coolness.  

“Hélène is doing well. Jacques and she got married last summer, as you know.”

His remark stings, but she keeps her composure. “I wish I could have been there. I bet she looked beautiful as a bride!”

Freddie nods. “She was indeed. It was a simple wedding, you know. After I sold my property, we all moved to a new house in Paris.” He hesitates, unsure if it was the time and place to share Hélène’s painful secret. “However, the children don’t seem to be coming to them as easily as they are for you and Arno...” he finally adds with a sigh.

Élise cringes and feels a pang in the pit of her stomach upon hearing the news. _Oh_.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she replies with a saddened voice, looking down at her belly. _We’re making babies without even trying, while others…_ She shudders. “I hope she is blessed with a baby soon. She would make such a great mother.”

Back inside the house, Élise reclines on the sofa, using several cushions and pillows to support her back and elevate her feet. Freddie sits on the armchair nearest to the fireplace, resting his crutches against the fireplace mantel.

“It’s a lovely house you’ve got here. Cozy,” he remarks as he looks around him, nodding in appreciation.

“Arno can show you around the house and the farm later, if you wish. I still can’t believe our luck in finding this place!” They hadn’t touched the original furniture or decoration when they moved in, except for obvious repairs. This house had none of the ornate mirrors on the walls or the fancy moldings on the ceiling like the house she grew up in, but it was their house, their home.

“Mama!” Julie says, tapping on Élise’s arm. She had escaped Marianne’s supervision and crawled to the sitting room to be with her mother.

“Look who’s here!” Élise coos. “Do you want to cuddle with mama? Do you want to cuddle mama’s belly?”

Elise picks Julie up and the girl sits on her mother's lap, leaning to rest on her belly, getting attached to her younger siblings before they even met. “You are getting heavy, Julie Bunny! There you go. Give mama’s belly a kiss. Do you feel the babies moving?”

“This is not what I expected to see when I thought about you as a grown woman,” he says, smiling fondly at Élise and her daughter. He had to admit, little Julie had already stole his heart. Still, there was a note of defeat in his voice, and it didn’t go unnoticed to Élise’s ears.

“Barefoot and pregnant? Looking like a peasant?” Élise retorts defensively, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips. “I know this is a disappointment for you. But you have to believe me: I have no regrets. Not a single one.”

Weatherall shakes his head. He didn’t want the conversation to turn into an argument from the very beginning, but witnessing Élise getting ticked off so easily was somewhat comforting: she didn’t lose her fiery temper. “You gave up on your birthright. You are a De La Serre...”

“This birthright was my prison. I chose freedom.” She speaks firmly, holding his gaze without flinching. “My name is Élise Dorian now, and I am proud of my name. I am proud of being Arno’s wife, I am proud of our family, and I am proud of what we have accomplished here.”

“Anyone for tea?” Marianne interrupts, cutting through the tension in the air that stretched between Élise and the old man.

“That would be lovely, thank you… what is your name again?” Freddie asks with a faint smile.

“Marianne, Sir!” she says as she pours hot tea into a cup, and serves it to him with trembling hands.

“Thank you, Marianne.”

Freddie catches Julie staring at him with her thumb in her mouth, eyeing him with a confused expression.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare at other people, Milady Julie?” he scolds with a half-mocking smile.

Élise chuckles, reaching with her hand to run her fingers through the delicate red curls of her little girl. “Those big brown eyes and that little furrowed brow as she studies things or people from a distance -- she has this from Arno, no doubt about it. However, I wish she’d give up on sucking her thumb, it’s not that we haven’t tried...”

“Do you know if she has his…?”

“His… skill? I wouldn’t have a clue, she’s still young, and it’s probably too early to tell. Obviously, I’ve often wondered if our children will inherit his abilities.” _And who knows, maybe our children will inherit my own skills instead,_ she wants to add, but she changes her mind. She wasn’t ready to broach the subject of her visions with her old advisor. “The moment she could crawl, and worse when she started to walk, she started exploring the world around her and there was no stopping her!”

“The apple never falls far from the mother tree, does it? I hope for your sake she won’t be as stubborn as you were – and still are!”

“Perhaps if I let her be free, she won’t have to rebel against anything or anyone,” she retorts with a simpering smile, before returning her attention to her droopy-eyed daughter, who was close to falling asleep on her lap. “This child wants peace. Whenever Arno and I argue or disagree, she finds a way to interrupt us. Even as a tiny baby she would start fussing if our voices would get too loud.”

Élise readjusts her pillows behind her back, in search of a more comfortable position. “How was the trip down here? You arrived safe and sound; I presume you didn’t run into any trouble.”

“Quite exhausting for an old chap like me. Blimey, did you really have to go live that far away? Thankfully, I had Madeleine with me to keep me company,” he adds with a timid smile, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

“You two are still getting along?” she smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, we are. She takes good care of me. My old bones need a lot of tender loving care!”

“You are not that old!” She was delighted to hear he had found a solid and down-to-Earth companion in Madeleine, after spending so many years in the background, selflessly devoting his life to the Order and to fulfill his promises to her mother and her father. _You also deserve to live a quiet life, my friend._

“I’ve just been through a lot,” he sighs, mindlessly stirring his tea. “Things I’d rather forget they ever happened.”

A heavy silence falls between them. Élise is unable to muster the courage to ask about her mother and Arno’s suspicions about her death being murder rather than a simple illness.

“Their entire luggage is in their room, the women have taken over the kitchen for dinner. I’ll go train a little before the evening milking. Are you comfortable, do you need anything?” Arno asks, startling her out of her deep thoughts. He was kneeling besides her, looking tenderly at her and Julie.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she answers with a smile. “You should invite Freddie, and show him how you’ve improved since I’ve been training you!”

“You’ve held your promise!” Weatherall exclaims, nodding in surprise.

“Of course! And while Arno was always quite a swordsman, the tiny tweaks I’ve made to his stance and his technique have done wonders!”

The old man grabs his crutches and gets off his chair. “Well, I can’t wait to see this for myself. Show me the way, son. And I expect the grand tour of your farm, too.”

“I’ll see you for dinner. I love you,” Arno murmurs as he presses his lips against hers, his hand stroking her belly.

 _Young people_ , Weatherall thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. “Training now, smooches later,” he orders, giving Arno a gentle shove with one of his crutches.

* * *

The evening meal was the occasion for their guests to tell tales about their journey down South. Madeleine, who had never traveled such a distance, couldn’t contain her excitement as she recalled the new towns and villages, and the changing sceneries she had discovered. To hear her speak with so much animation made Arno think back of his days at the Café-Théâtre, where her cheerful voice and her hearty meals pulled him through his darkest times. She had been a true mother to him, generously giving without ever asking anything in return, not even an explanation for his sometimes long absences, or his many injuries. And hearing her voice again today made him realize the impact she had on his life.

“What did you think of the farm?” Arno asks Freddie later, as they finish their wine.

“It’s quite something you’ve got there, I have to say! I never imagined you as a farmer, but I suppose...”

“You suppose my experience earning my keep with Élise’s family comes in handy now?” Arno stares defiantly at Weatherall, a slight tension in his jaw.

“Arno, don’t say that!” Élise says softly, squeezing his arm. She casts her old friend an angry look.

“No, he’s right. It _has_ come in handy…” Arno says, forcing a smile. Working in the stables, carrying out all the odd jobs he was ordered to do – Élise’s family always treated him fairly and well, but there was no mistaking possible in regards to his rank. And by marrying Élise, he knew he’d have to prove his worth to Weatherall, time and time again. He had earned the man’s respect with his deeds and by showing his love for Élise, but in his eyes, Arno will always remain the orphan, the ward, the Assassin, forever a notch below.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful. I was merely stating a fact...” Freddie shrugs, a contrite look on his face, wishing he could take back his words.

“Well, I think you’ve turned this farm into a lovely home for you and your children. You’ve done well, both of you,” Madeleine quickly adds to ease the tension.

In her high chair, Julie fusses and shows signs of impatience. She turns towards her father, her little arms extended in front of her, begging to be picked up.

“Are you rudely interrupting us again?” Arno scolds in jest as he lifts his baby up from her chair and sits her on his lap, gently cradling her face with his hand as she snuggles against him. “It’s past bedtime for you, isn’t it Sweet Pea? Do you want to drink a little more?”

Arno brings the drinking cup to Julie’s mouth, spilling a bit of milk on his clothes in the process. “Your mother is so much better than me at this! Better yet, she’s _designed_ to feed you!”

“The midwife said I could start weaning her if I feel up to it, and I have to say, I’m not really looking forward to feeding two newborns and an older baby at the same time. I don’t want to give up nursing Julie yet, but she’s old enough to start eating something else than mama’s milk from time to time, aren’t you Bunny?”

“I can only imagine the amount of work you’ll have with the twins! But I’ll be here to help, don’t you worry, Madame Élise. You will not be alone.”

Élise smiles at the older woman, thankful she can count on her for help this time around. She often felt alone and helpless after Julie was born, despite Clara and Marcera’s presence. Her smile turns into a frown as she feels her belly tensing up. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should go lie down, I’ve been quite disobedient today. Will you bring her to me shortly?” she asks Arno as she slowly gets off her chair.

“Élise, before you go upstairs, will you follow me to our room?” Freddie says, waving his finger in the air.

“Of course.” Élise leans over to place a delicate kiss her daughter’s head.

She follows Freddie to the study across from the kitchen, where the furniture had been rearranged to accommodate a bed and a small chest with drawers.

“That comment was out of line,” Élise hisses as she closes the door behind her. “You know what Arno means to me, and I thought he had proven his worth to you, several times. He has been nothing but the most loving husband I could ever ask for. After Julie was born, when we were at our poorest, he went to work hungry to ensure I had enough to eat to recover from childbirth and feed our baby. He worked tirelessly on the farm, all on his own, to provide for his family. He adores his daughter, he cares for her, and he is not afraid to show his love for her. Now tell me: how many men do you know would feed their child, or change a dirty diaper?”

“I’m sorry,” Weatherall says with a deep sigh. “Please accept my apology. I never meant to belittle… He’s a great man. And I know he treats you well.”

 _Except that one time when he bit me. And that one time when he hit me. But he’s my man, and I love him, and I will defend him until the day I die._ “Apology accepted,” she nods, satisfied with his apology.

He pulls a small, plain wooden box out of a trunk and hands it to her. “Here. I promised to bring you the money from the sale of your properties. Spend it wisely, will you?”

“From the point of view of our marriage contract, this money is now Arno’s money...” she says bitterly.

“Should I be worried about his spending habits?”

She rolls her eyes, then forces a smile. _Not again, please._ “I’m the reckless spender, remember?”

“That, you are. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. You need to rest.”

“I will see you tomorrow morning. Good night.”

“Good night, my child.”

As she closes the study’s door behind her, Weatherall sits down at the edge of the bed, slicking his hair back absently with his hand. He wasn’t certain who and what he expected to find here in the South of France, but their stay would undoubtedly bring its share of surprises.  

* * *

**May 19, 1796**

With their guests’ arrival, the house of La Concorde is fuller than ever, much to Élise’s relief: boredom is a thing of the past, there is always a distraction of some sort, or someone to talk to. She spends her days downstairs lying on the sofa, in company of Freddie or Madeleine, Julie never being far, under the careful watch of Marianne. In an effort to ease the tension, and to prove his respect and appreciation for the man, Freddie has been regularly spending time with Arno, replacing Élise as his trainer. And Madeleine couldn’t be happier to care for Julie from time to time while Marianne works in the garden, the little girl returning her affection with wide smiles, giggles, and cuddles.

The first roses in the garden were breaking out in bloom, and Élise couldn’t resist sitting outside to breathe in their sweet and delicate scent. Julie is exploring the garden and chasing butterflies, her laughter high-pitched and infectious.

“She’s a lively little girl!” Freddie comments, chuckling lightly as Julie startles Mademoiselle Moustache by tugging at her tail.

“My pride and joy,” Élise says, smiling tenderly at her daughter. “Oh, it hasn’t been easy in the beginning, I certainly wasn’t prepared for motherhood. What was I supposed to do with a crying baby?”

“Élise…” he begins, his expression at once grim and austere. “The Order is in shambles, divided as ever. The last supporters of your father are hiding in the shadows, afraid of becoming a target, me included. Meanwhile, remaining supporters of Germain are fighting among themselves to elect their new head. My informants told me the British Grand Master is even considering taking over the French Order and rule the French Templars, can you believe it? We need a strong leader, someone who will bring peace back within the Order, and unify...”

“ _‘We’_? Years ago, you said I had no support. I should have known. I should have known this visit had nothing to do with safely bringing the money, or getting to know my children. You came all the way here to convince me to go back to Paris and claim my right to be Grand Master. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

“Well…” he hesitates with a deep sigh. He hid his cards as best he could, but it only took her a few seconds to uncover his game. _Perspicacious as always_ , he thinks to himself, shaking his head.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” she snaps, trying to keep her voice down so neither Marianne nor Arno would hear their conversation. “Do you realize the moment I step foot back in Paris, they will kill me and hunt Arno down until they kill him too?”

“Élise, listen: we can arrange for protection…” he argues, leaning forward over the table.

She lets out a frustrated groan. “Protection? _Protection?_ ” she shouts, losing all restraint. “This protection you speak of, did it prevent my father’s murder? And how about my mother? Was she ‘protected’ too?”

“Your mother was ill! Nothing could have prevented her illness...” he retorts, choking on his last words. He looks away, fighting the surge of emotions rising and the tears welling in his eyes. It had been 18 years since Julie de la Serre’s death, the pain of losing her had diminished somewhat, but nothing could replace the ache in his heart that her death created.

She bites her lip, regretting her outburst. She paused before asking, but she had to be sure: “Mr. Weatherall, Freddie, I demand to know the truth. Was my mother poisoned?”

He sighs deeply, and then shrugs. “I don’t know if your mother was poisoned. We could never prove it.”

She frowns upon hearing his admission. “So the thought of her death being foul play did cross your mind?”

“Of course. I’ve been involved directly or indirectly with too many machinations in my lifetime to simply believe she got ill by random chance. Not after the attempted murder when you were a small child anyway...”

“Did you or my father ever investigate her death?”

“As I said, we could never prove it.”

She places her hands one atop another on her belly, chewing on her lip. “How come I never saw it…? How come I never thought about it…?” she mutters, shaking her head in disbelief.

“If you’d come back to Paris…” he pleads with a hopeful smile.

She meets his gaze, his eyes tired and old beyond his age. He had seen too much, he had lived too much. She was his last hope to see the Templar Order restored to its former glory in his lifetime, and having to disappoint him was breaking her heart.

She closes her eyes. _I’m sorry, I can’t. But Arno..._ She opens her eyes again, darting a quick glance at her daughter who was pulling the petals of a daisy, one by one. Carefree, peaceful, happy. She turns her eyes back to Weatherall. “My answer is no. My place is here, with Arno, and with my children. Safe.”

He nods, resignation written all over his face. “Does anybody here know your true identity?” he asks after a long, heavy silence.

“Aside from my best friend and midwife, no one knows I’m a Templar. And no one knows Arno is an Assassin. There's a Temple in Gap, by the way, or so I heard,” she adds matter-of-factly.

“The South of France is known to have been Templar territory for centuries! Didn’t your expensive private tutors teach you anything?” he scoffs.

“Were you followed on your way here?” she continues, ignoring his remark. “Julie is a target as much as Arno and I are. You saw how Ruddock tried to carve her out of my womb. Her safety is my biggest concern.”

“We used a different name every night. And while she usually can’t keep her mouth shut about anything, Madeleine hasn’t said a word about who we are, where we are from, where we were going, and who we were going to visit. She knows the drill, and she would never put you, Arno, or Julie, in danger. Neither would I. And you know Hélène or Jacques would never talk.”

“Unless they are under threat. You left them alone,” she retorts, unfazed and unconvinced.

“With protection,” he reassures. He leans back on his chair, a wistful smile on his lips. “I was prepared for a negative answer, but it was worth the try. You’ve changed. I expected to find someone different, but I had to admit, this is beyond my wildest expectations. Becoming a mother has changed you. For the better, I might add. I've never seen you so calm, so peaceful, so… balanced. At the same time, you are as fierce as I’ve ever seen you. Anyone approaching your children will see their throat sliced at once. Are you happy, Élise? Only knowing you’re truly happy could put my mind at ease as I go back to Paris empty-handed in a few months.”

She nods, a wide, warm smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I’m happy. And more importantly: I am _free_. I’ve been suffocating for far too long, watching my back, feeling trapped. I was a child when I was robbed from my freedom. I assure you, my daughter and all my other children will always be free. I will not raise them the way I was raised. This war has made too many orphans, killed too many of our loved ones. Arno and I have suffered enough, our wounds have finally begun to heal. The Order will eventually rise from its ashes. But it will be without me.”

She notices Julie standing by her chair, a petal-less daisy in her hand. “Do you want to hold her?”

“I haven't yet, have I? Of course, I'd love to.”

She gives her daughter a gentle push on her back, encouraging her to get closer to Freddie’s chair. “Go ahead, don’t be scared, Julie Bunny.”

The baby timidly hands the daisy to Freddie. Immediately sticking her thumb in her mouth, she stares at him through her long lashes.

“A flower? For me? I’m honored! Thank you, Milady!” he says as he takes the flower from her hand, while placing his other hand on his heart. He then scoops Julie into his arms and settles her on his lap, the little girl squealing and giggling.

At this right moment, Madeleine enters the garden carrying refreshments.

“My goodness, dear, what a sight!” she says as she puts the tray on the table.

“I’ve held babies before, love, don’t look so surprised!” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“I know, you’ve held _my_ grandchildren, but it’s something else when you hold your own…”

“She’s not my granddaughter!”  
Élise chuckles. “In a way, she is. You were always a father to me.” _Even when my father was still alive, I might add._

“I can never take your father’s place in your heart, child. Julie is his granddaughter, and nothing will ever change that. However...” He looks down at Julie, and she looks up at him, smiling. “I will gladly play the adoptive granddad, if Milady Julie will accept me. What do you say, Milady?”

Her answer is to lift her little chubby arms into the air for a hug, and without hesitation, he pulled her close and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“I think that’s a yes!” Élise says, tears of endearment gathering in her eyes. _A happy family is all I want for my children._ She closes her eyes and puts her hands on her belly, concentrating her attention to the babies in her womb, her mind being immediately flooded with the same images of bloodshed and conflict.

* * *

**June 5, 1796**

Arno stayed late downstairs, playing cards with Freddie and Madeleine. Julie is asleep in her crib, whimpering every so often in her sleep. He leans over the crib to slowly stroke his daughter’s tummy.

“Night night, Sweet Pea,” he whispers, gently running his fingers across her cheek.

He then hears a quiet sniffle and a sob coming from the bed.

“Hey, I thought you were sleeping!” he says in a low voice, as he sits by her side. When she turns her head towards him, her eyes are reddened with tears. _How long have you been crying, my love? Talk to me…_

The past few days, Élise hadn’t been able to leave the bedroom to go downstairs, pain in her back and hips hindering her mobility. And while Madeleine and Marianne kept her company, and attended to her every need, loneliness had taken over her, and she missed Arno dearly. He had been busy working on the house and the outbuildings between his usual tasks on the farm, thanks to the money generated from selling Élise’s properties. He wanted to finish the work before the twins’ birth, ensuring for example that one of the tiny bedrooms would be ready for Julie to move in, knowing too well the babies could arrive ahead of time. And this meant he wasn’t spending time with Élise and Julie the way he used to, not to mention the time he spent socializing with Freddie and Madeleine while Élise was upstairs, alone.

“I’m just tired,” she shrugs with a quivering voice. “And lonely. And scared… Delivering these babies terrifies me!”

“Are you… seeing anything?” He hadn’t believed her the year before when she said she could see herself bleeding while giving birth to Julie, dismissing her fears as a simple panic attack. Now that he knew and understood her visions, he was taking them very seriously.

“The usual blood… A lot of it… I don’t want to die…” she sobs, her face suddenly twisting in pain.

“Élise, tell me the truth: do you have contractions right now?” he asks, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

“False labor, probably... “ she dismisses quickly. Afraid of going into labor prematurely, she had been ignoring the contractions she had been feeling for several hours already, suffering in silence and denial.

“Do you want me to help you walk around, to see if they go away?”

She nods, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

He helps her out of bed and on her feet, holding her steady with an arm wrapped around her back and under her armpit, holding her hand with the other. With great difficulty, they pace around the room, her face contorting in pain at each step.

“And? Does it go away?”

“A little. I think. It’s hard to tell, I’m already in so much pain...”

“Let’s get you back in bed.”

He fluffs her pillows and tucks her in, and then dips a washcloth in the basin filled with cold water to wash the sweat off her forehead. He hated seeing her in pain, his heart torn between the joy of watching her carry his children, and the guilt of having her experience a difficult pregnancy.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks softly,

Seemingly satisfied by her nod, yet deeply worried, he undresses quietly and crawls in bed next to her, pressing his body against hers, hoping his warmth would bring some relief. With his free hand, he strokes her belly, while his lips press tender kisses on her shoulder.

“Freddie doesn’t know anything, about my mother,” she says out of the blue. “They could never prove she was poisoned. I tried several times to get more information from him, but he's either not telling, or he doesn't know.”

He stills his lips, pondering on her words. “Maybe she was simply ill?”

“Or her murderer knew how to kill someone slowly, without leaving a trace. Arno? Would you find out for me?” She turns halfway on her back, looking expectantly into his eyes.

“Find out what? Who murdered your mother?” he asks, bewildered.

“Not now... One day. When… _if_ you join the Brotherhood again.”

 _Going back to the Brotherhood to plead for peace, finding out who murdered your mother… How can I possibly succeed where everyone else has failed?_ he muses, overwhelmed by the expectations she was placing on him. _Stop being so insecure, Arno!_ he scolds himself. “I can’t make that promise right now, but I do promise I will think about it,” he assures with a sigh.

All of a sudden, she moans in pain, rolling back to her side and clutching her belly as another contraction strikes. “This one hurts…” she gasps.

“Do you want me to go fetch Clara?”

She shakes her head, breathing through the contraction. “Not yet. It’s still… probably... false labor,” she pants.

He wanted nothing more than to believe her, but the painful reality of labor was written all over her face. “It’s too soon, isn’t it?” he finally asks, with concern in his voice.

She gives him a slight nod. “Much too soon…The babies... are due... in the last week of June...” She takes a deep breath and exhales the air, letting out a sigh of relief as the contraction passes.

“Everything will be fine. Take my hand,” he murmurs, clasping her hand in his and interlocking their fingers.


	21. Double Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✿ Happy Mother's Day! ✿
> 
> Again, apologies for taking such a long time to write this chapter, I struggled immensely with an incredibly busy schedule, and an overload of ideas which couldn't possibly all fit in a decently sized chapter! As in the past, I ended up splitting the content in two chapters -- and here's Part One.
> 
> And yes, this drawing is my work too ;-)

** **

Mama's Boys

**June 6, 1976**

**5:05am**

The contractions continue through the night, and Élise doesn’t sleep a wink. At her side, Arno is sound asleep, his fingers still intertwined with hers. He had stayed awake with her for a little while, but since the contractions weren't getting any closer together, they decided it was best for them just to try to get some rest. While he quickly drifted asleep, Élise’s eyes remained wide-opened, her mind keeping on racing with thoughts of the babies being born too soon and of the danger of childbirth for her own life. She panted, gasped, and sobbed quietly through the worst of the pain, squeezing Arno’s hand ever so lightly, too afraid to wake him up. She would need his strength to carry her to the end of the line, to today’s final battle, where she would hopefully give birth to two healthy babies. _Happy thoughts Élise, happy thoughts_ , she kept repeating herself in her best imitation of Arno’s voice.

Through the window, the sky was becoming streaked with pink, announcing a bright sunny day. She slips her hand out of his and carefully sits at the side of the bed, a pressing need building in her lower abdomen. She frowns when her hand makes contact with the sheet where she was lying a few seconds before.

“Did I pee myself? How embarrassing…” she groans, immediately cringing as a new contraction strikes. She gets on her feet, and at the height of the contraction, she feels the pop of her waters breaking, followed by a gush of fluid between her legs.

“ARNO!” she cries out, gripping the arms of a chair to keep herself upright, her legs suddenly feeling weak.

He jolts awake, sitting up straight and shaking the sleep out of his mind. “What? What?”

“They’re coming. The babies are coming, my water broke…”

Without a second of hesitation, he jumps out of bed and as he gets close to her, he slides his hand around her back and under her armpit to support her.

“Let’s get you back in bed, and I’ll go get Clara,” he says calmly, tiptoeing to avoid the puddle of fluid on the floor.

“The floor, the floor is wet!” she laments through clenched teeth, shivering slightly.

He nods with a smile, the wet floor being the least of his worries at this moment. “Yes, I can see that. Don’t worry about it!”

“It's too soon, what if they don't survive, they are not ready…”

In his arms, her shivers turn to shakes. “Élise, look at me,” he says, turning her chin towards him. “Breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth, slowly.” He can tell from her red and puffy eyes that she had been crying.

Staring into his eyes filled with concern, she follows his voice, breathing in and out – rapidly at first, but as the contraction eases and her panic vanishes, her breathing comes back to normal.

In her crib at the back of the room, Julie stirs awake from the commotion, and calls for her mother.

“I want to hold Julie… She’s probably hungry, she needs me, bring me my baby,” Élise says impatiently, wanting nothing more than to cradle her daughter into her arms and nuzzle her hair, the warmth of her little body against her chest soothing and comforting.

“I’ll bring her to you in a minute. One thing at a time. Back in bed you go...” he says, his hand sliding to grip her waist and guide her towards the bed.

“I need to pee…” she admits with a chuckle.

“Alright,” he laughs. “Let’s do that first!”

* * *

**5:25am**

After helping Élise back into bed and bringing Julie to her for her morning feed and some much needed cuddling, Arno rushes out of the bedroom and leaps down the stairs. He had remained calm and poised in Élise’s presence, hiding his own fears to not fuel hers. Now alone, fear is filling his heart and he finds it hard to breathe.

“Monsieur Arno, what is happening?” Madeleine asks as she closes the door of their room as quietly as possible. She heard the noise and loud voices coming from upstairs, apprehending the worst.

“Élise is in labor, her water broke, the floor is wet, and I have to go fetch her midwife…” he reels as he ties his boots and throws his jacket over his shoulders.

“Oh dear. Go, go! I’ll take care of her in the meantime. Don’t you worry, and do what you have to do.” Gripped by a shiver, she tugs at the sides of her robe. “It’s too soon, isn’t it?” she adds, knowing too well the answer to her own question.

“Much too soon…” he replies with a loud sigh. With his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, he meets her gaze, the motherly softness in her eyes touching him deep in his heart.

“Don’t worry, Monsieur Arno,” she says with a kind smile. “These are your babies, and Madame Élise’s. They are strong. It’s in their blood.”

Unable to muster the courage to return her smile, he simply nods before heading out.

* * *

**5:30am**

He hesitates an instant before knocking on the door, at once bearing the guilt of waking everyone at such an ungodly hour. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs before knocking three times, as hard as he can.

Several minutes later, a sleepy Fabian appears as the door finally opens.

“Arno! What on Earth…?” he asks, incredulous.

“We need Clara, Élise is in labor, it’s too soon, and… Clara! You have to come!”

Behind her father, Arno had noticed Clara coming down the stairs.

“Already? But I can’t, I can’t do it on my own...” she protests, stopping halfway.

“Élise’s water broke just now, she’s been in labor since yesterday, but she didn’t say anything, I’ve only found out as we were going to bed, and she's in pain, and I don't know what to do, the babies are coming…” he attempts to explain, his voice breaking with his last words.

She had never seen him so upset, and after taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she forces a smile that she hopes will bring some reassurance.

“Alright, I’ll get dressed and I’ll be right over,” she says, immediately turning around to climb back to her room.

“I’ll try to find Elena…” Arno sighs, wondering how he could possibly scour the whole town to find the midwife, and hold his wife’s hand while she's in labor, all at the same time.

“No, son,” Fabian says as he places his hand on Arno’s shoulder. “Go back home, and stay with Élise. I’ll fetch the midwife for you.”

Arno looks at the older man and nods in gratitude. One day, he would have to repay the neighbors’ incredible generosity. _I’ll have to find a way_ , he thinks to himself as he sprints back home to be at Élise’s side. It was too early for the morning's milking, and Marianne would show up at their doorstep within a few hours anyway. The farm would have to wait.

“I’m here, and Clara is on her way,” he says softly as he embraces Élise, placing a kiss on her sweat-damp forehead. Her only answer is a nod, followed by a faint smile, and a sob. She wouldn’t be alone this time.

* * *

**10:15am**

Sitting at one end of the sofa, Freddie restlessly twiddles his thumbs, trying to shut away Élise’s cries. When Madeleine woke him up and told him Élise was in labor, he didn’t believe her a first. Or he didn’t _want_ to believe her. He knew nothing about babies and children, but this was his Élise, his _would-be daughter_ as he loved to call her, and the thought of her babies’ lives of her life being endangered was stirring emotions within him that he hadn’t felt since… He sighs deeply, his thoughts wandering to spring of 1768, when Julie de la Serre was due to give birth imminently.  The feelings of hopelessness and sorrow, of his dream out of reach and forever unattainable, were suddenly coming back to him.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startles him out of his contemplation. He leans forward to peek into the kitchen, where Marcera was unloading the content of her basket on the table. She had brought food for everyone, the best way she knew to offer her support to Élise and her family, and to her own daughter.

Suddenly, she gasps and brings her hand to her chest.

“My apologies, Madame, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Freddie says with a kind smile.

“I expected everyone to be upstairs!” Marcera says before entering the sitting room, her hand extended in front of her. “I don’t think we had the chance to meet before, Monsieur. My name is Marcera Lacoste, we are neighbors of Arno and Élise. My daughter is Élise’s midwife…” She couldn’t hide her pride while saying these words. _My daughter is Élise’s midwife_ . Just a year ago, her mother heart was hurt by her only daughter’s decision to give up on marriage and to pursue a vocation, a _career_ – what a ludicrous idea for a woman! – as a midwife.

“Ah! It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you!” he exclaims, eagerly shaking Marcera’s hand. “Élise spoke of you and your husband in her letters. She thinks highly of you – of your generosity and your warmth, and how you’ve helped her and Arno settle here. I should thank you for taking such good care of her, Arno, and little Julie. It’s been a great relief for me to know Élise had found people she could trust.”

“And you must be Sir Weatherall! Élise’s old friend. She hasn’t elaborated much on her life in Paris and Versailles, but she spoke often of you. She missed you, and she was overjoyed when you announced you were visiting! Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely!”

With a nod, she returns to the kitchen to prepare a large pot of tea. _No doubt they’ll be in need of refreshments_ , she thinks to herself as she pours the hot tea into two cups. She would bring the rest upstairs later.

“Thank you so much, Madame Lacoste,” he says as he takes the warm cup from her hands. “Oh, call me Marcera, please. This isn’t Versailles, and I don’t believe in formalities. Speaking of Versailles, did Élise mention we both went to the Maison Royale?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you, now? I know one should never ask a woman a question which could reveal her age, but around what years were you attending the school?”

“Back in the early 1750s. I was so miserable, living so far away from my family at such a young age, my mother pulled me out of the school and brought me home after only two years.”

He nods, pensive, one question burning his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to remember a fellow Demoiselle de Saint-Cyr… She must have been about the same age as you were. Her name was Julie…”

She chuckles while sipping her tea. “There were many girls named Julie! You’ll have to be more specific, and it’s been so long!”

“Her full name is Julie de Fleurian. Red hair, green eyes, probably hated dresses, and anything domestic.” A wistful smile appears on his lips as he hears himself pronounce his lover’s maiden name. He hadn’t called her by this name for more than 30 years -- no one had since she became François de la Serre’s wife.

“Goodness, yes! Julie de Fleurian, I had completely forgotten about her! She was beautiful, and there was something… regal about her. I could tell she was from a family of the finest Parisian nobility. Very studious, and while she was friendly with everyone, she was a bit withdrawn; she kept to herself, like she was hiding something. I never really interacted with her, I was too shy, and she intimidated me! But, why are you asking this, was she a friend of yours?”

 _Yes, she was a friend. More than a friend, even._ “She’s… she _was_ Élise’s mother.”

“Are you serious? What a coincidence! Élise barely ever speaks of her mother, I didn’t even know her name!” She pauses and slaps her forehead with her hand. “Oh, I see, now. She named her baby after her mother, how precious! Mother and daughter always share a special bond…And if my memories of Julie don’t fail me, Élise is the spitting image of her mother!”

“Her mother’s death affected her immensely. I bet it’s still a painful subject for her.” _And to me, he sighs._ Somehow, the knowledge he had now found someone who knew Julie was comforting, yet intriguing at the same time. What else did she know about her?

“And you know her mother as an old friend of the family, I suppose,” Marcera adds, setting her empty cup of tea on the side table.

He laughs nervously. “Something like that, yes. We had… common business.”

Heavy footsteps can be heard on the staircase, and Freddie straightens his back, his ears peeled. He could recognize Madeleine’s footsteps anywhere.

“Maddie, love, how is it going over there?” he calls from the sitting room, anxious to know how Élise is doing. She had been quiet for a long time now, not a cry to be heard.

“Labor seems to be progressing slowly,” Madeleine says as she approaches the sitting room. “I’ve heard them say something about the contractions not being strong enough. It happens with twins, apparently. But nothing to worry about, dear. And I see you have company...” she adds with a sour smile.

Marcera stands to greet Madeleine, ignoring the tension that had seemed to build between them. “I’m Clara’s mother, Marcera, we’re the neighbors. I was just coming to bring something to eat for everyone, and hoping to make myself useful.”

“Madeleine. I used to work for Monsieur Arno in Paris. And now it seems I’m playing assistant-midwife...” _Nothing to worry about, she’s just the neighbor Madame Élise wrote about_ , she thinks to herself. _Why are you so jealous all of a sudden?_

“I was in your place just over a year ago! I can take over if you need a break. Is baby Julie with them? I suppose Arno is working…”

“Madame Élise is nursing baby Julie at this right moment. Marianne is tending to the farm while Monsieur Arno is with Madame Élise, holding her hand and being the sweetheart that he is. They wanted to send him away, labor is not the place for men! But he insisted. I rarely ever heard him raise his voice, but his tone brooked no argument!”

“There were complications last year, Élise lost a lot of blood, and she passed out. I was afraid we would lose her. I suppose he doesn’t want to leave her side in case it happens again. I can’t blame him… Come, have a seat, you look exhausted. There’s tea if you want. I’ll go see if they need any help.”

“Thank you. My old back needs a bit of rest! I was on my knees washing the floor at 5 o’clock this morning!” Madeleine says before letting herself plop on the sofa next to Freddie.

“We’ll have to continue our conversation another day Sir Freddie, I’m curious to learn more about Élise’s mother!”

“Absolutely!” he replies with a warm smile.

“What was that all about?” Madeleine asks under her breath, as Marcera leaves the room. “Does she know Madame Élise’s mother?”

He nods, a large grin across his face. “By an enormous coincidence, they went to the same school, at the same time. She never made the connection with Élise. From what I gather, Élise hasn’t revealed anything about her family that could compromise her safety – good girl. Although she did tell me she talked to her friend, that Clara who is her midwife…”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about…” she quickly adds, placing her hand on his and squeezing it gently in an attempt to reassure him. She had gotten used to thinking twice before saying anything that could compromise their safety. It took her witnessing Élise’s attack on the rooftop garden to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, and she swore to would never put them in danger, especially now that children are involved.

“I need to know more about these neighbors,” he says as he turns his head towards her, his tone at once thoughtful. “One does not simply send his daughter hundreds of miles away to a boarding school usually reserved for nobility. Perhaps she was sponsored. I find it very intriguing…”

She pinched his bearded chin gently. “You always see conspiracies everywhere!” she teases with a chuckle.

“How is she doing?”

She sees the worry on his face, he couldn’t hide much from her. She takes his hand, interlocking their fingers. “She’s mighty strong. Don’t worry, Freddie,” she says softly.

* * *

**10:35am**

Marcera had barely crossed the doorstep that baby Julie was shoved into her arms. Elena took a gamble, but desperate situations meant desperate measures. The gamble paid off, Élise feeding her daughter had helped trigger stronger and more efficient contractions, and the moment of delivery was getting closer by the minute.

“I think it’s better you take her out of the room,” Clara said to her mother.

“Yes, of course! Come with me little Julie… Yes, you’ll see your mama very soon…”

“I need to push!” Élise cries, clutching her belly with both hands. Arno was sitting in bed next to her, rubbing her back.

“Alright, let’s get you on the stool, but don’t push just yet...” Elena says, coiling her arm under Élise’s arm to help her up on her feet.

“NO! The floor, I want to lie on the floor…” Élise protests with a sob of agony. She enjoyed a short respite when labor seemed to have stalled, but the contractions were now back with full force, and the pain was unbearable.

“Why do y-” Arno begins, chuckling lightly.  
“I SAID I WANT TO BE ON THE FLOOR!” she shouts before burying her face into his chest.

He nods and grins. “Shhhh, It’s fine, don’t worry, let’s help you down on the floor then...”

In less time than it took Arno to help her up on her feet, a blanket and several pillows were laid on the floor next to the bed. He kneels behind her, and she reclines against his chest, four hands on her belly feeling another contraction rising.

“Will... I... bleed… again?” Élise asks as she pants through the contraction. Her visions were still revealing to her that she would bleed, but she nevertheless remained hopeful that the premonitions wouldn’t come true.

“Quite possibly,” Elena replies with a nod. “But now that we know that you’re a bleeder, we can try to prevent it, or at least keep it under control.”

“That’s… reassuring,” Arno comments with a snort.

Standing in the doorway, Madeleine knocks discreetly. “Please excuse me, I know this is not the right moment, but there is someone at the front door looking for the midwife…”

“We’re busy!” Elena retorts abruptly.

“I am very aware of that, however the poor man’s wife is about to give birth, and she really needs your help, apparently she is not well…”

Elena curses under her breath. Two women delivering at the same time, both of them announcing difficult deliveries: this was a nightmare for a small town’s midwife. “Can you do this on your own?” she asks Clara.

The younger woman shakes her head vehemently. “What? No! Not twins, I can’t, this is too risky!”

“You’ve been following me for a full year, I know you can do this. Do you remember what I told you about babies that are born too early?”

“Yes, they need to stay warm!” Clara replies proudly. “But what if one of the babies is not head down, what if…”

“You can do this, Clara. You’ve done it before,” Elena insists. She had been impressed with her apprentice’s talent. When Clara knocked on her door one afternoon of June the year before, she laughed in her face. She didn’t believe Clara to be midwife material, but as no one else in the village had shown any interest in becoming her apprentice for several years, and since she wasn’t the youngest herself anymore, she gave her a chance. From the get-go she uncovered a smart and quick-thinking mind, eager to learn. Clara absorbed her teachings like a sponge, her confidence and self-assurance growing month by month. She had a lot to learn still, the kind of knowledge that can only be acquired by experience and lucky gambles. Today was her chance to take the reins and show what she was capable of.

“While your mother watches over Mademoiselle Julie, I will come and give you a hand sweet Clara, not a problem,” Madeleine says encouragingly.

Élise meets Clara’s gaze, and forces a smile. “I have faith in you, Clara.”

“And so do I,” Arno adds.

“Then it’s settled!” Elena announces cheerfully as she gets up on her feet. “All the best to you both. You are in good hands.” Escorted by Madeleine, she leaves the room to go to the poor man’s wife’s rescue.

“I feel another contraction coming…” Élise groans through gritted teeth.

Clara lays her hands on Élise’s belly, trying to feel the contraction and the baby engaging for delivery. “Let’s use it. Push Élise, push!” Clara presses.

Grasping Arno’s hands, Élise clenches her jaw and screams through her teeth as she pushes as hard as she can until the contraction subsides. She then lets herself fall back against Arno’s chest, panting heavily to catch her breath.

“You’re doing great, I’m so proud of you!” Arno murmurs, planting a kiss on the top of her head. He smooths her hair, damp from sweat, trying as best he could to comfort her.

“I’m at your service, just tell me what to do, and I’ll gladly assist you,” Madeleine says as she comes back into the room and kneels next to Clara.

“Erm, please be ready with a blanket as soon as the first baby is born, we don’t want this baby to catch death by getting cold!”

Madeleine nods, reaching behind her to grab a small woolen blanket. She unfolds it and lays it over her forearms, ready to welcome the baby.

“I can feel the head, thank GOD, I can feel the head,” Clara says with a deep sigh of relief as she examines Élise. “The baby is coming, use the force of the contraction Élise, PUSH!”

“I can’t... I can’t... I can’t…” Élise pants, overwhelmed by the force of the contraction gripping her. And she pushes with all her might, again and again, with each following contraction.

“Harder, harder!” Clara urges her.

“Keep going, keep going, keep going!” Arno chants.

First the head, then the shoulders, and the rest of their son’s body finally come out. Clara lays the baby briefly on her lap, emptying his mouth and drying his face with a cloth. The tiny boy grimaces and then squalls in protest.

Shaking from head to toe, Élise exhales a long-held breath and opens her eyes, relief written all over her face. Clara then clamps and cuts the cord, lifting the baby to lay him on the blanket Madeleine was holding in front of her. The boy’s cries become louder, and Élise lets out a laughing sob.

“You did it, you did it…” Arno says, swallowing to hold back his tears.

“Take the baby and wrap him while we get ready for the next one!” Clara commands to Madeleine. She was relieved the first twin was born without a hitch, but she knew it was way too soon to cheer. “Élise, I’ll be pressing on your womb a little to stimulate the contractions, it might hurt. I'm sorry.”

Élise nods, bracing herself for the pain. But there is only one thing on her mind at this very moment: her son in Madeleine’s arms.

“Congratulations, Monsieur Arno and Madame Élise, you have a beautiful son! Do you want to hold him?” Madeleine asks, holding the tiny baby swaddled in a plush wool blanket adorned with embroidered flowers. She had instantly recognized the blanket as part of the layette that was given to Élise upon their departure from Paris, and it made her smile to think the ladies of the Café-Théâtre, including herself, took part in Julie’s birth and in her first months of life through this gift. And now, it was the twin’s turn to be wrapped in this heirloom present.

“Do I really need to answer?” Arno replies with the widest of smiles as he cradles his son into his arms. “Hello, my little baby… You’re so tiny! Look, Élise, look…”

She turns her head to take a look at the infant, so small in his father’s arms, much smaller than Julie was when she was born. “Hello, baby boy!” she says, reaching to caress his head with her fingertips. “If I’d ever imagine what you looked like when you were a newborn, I’d think you’d look just like him… Look at all that hair!” She gasps as grimaces as she feels a contraction swell from deep within her womb. Clara’s manipulations were clearly working. “What are you going to call him?”

“It’s my turn to pick isn’t it?” He gazes adoringly at his son, running his index finger on his wrinkled forehead. “I’ve asked myself countless times if it wouldn’t be better for our sons to not bear the burden of our fathers’ names. But in my heart, I know it’s the right thing to do. And while I’ve known your father longer than I ever known mine, this tiny little boy here in my arms will be named Charles. I hope you’re not offended?”

“Of course not, he’s your father!” she says, grinning through the pain. “Pleased to meet you, my sweet boy Charles Dorian. I’m sure you’ll make your grand-father a proud man…” Her words end in a groan. “Uh, that hurts… The contractions seem to be getting stronger, is the second baby coming already?”

Clara lays her hands flat on Élise’s belly once more. “I think so. Next time you feel a contraction, start pushing!”

“I feel one coming now, but it feels like the last one isn’t even over…”

“Ok, then PUSH!”

Without a word and with an understanding look, Madeleine takes Charles from Arno’s arms and gently lays him in the bassinet at the foot of the bed, before getting in position next to Clara, new blanket in hands.

Élise pushes, and she pushes again through the next contraction, and then the next. Clara can see the baby engaging and coming down with every push, but each time he seems to climb right back in.

“Maybe I can try to find out what’s coming...“ She precautiously inserts her fingers, followed by the palm of her hand, conscious of Élise’s bruised insides. Where she expected to find a round head, she found soft flesh. “Damn… Oh dear me, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be cursing like that…” She bites her lip and closes her eyes, trying to process the information the examination had revealed to her.

“What’s wrong, Clara?” Arno asks, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

“I think… I believe...” She hesitates, the words to announce the baby’s breech presentation eluding her. “I think this one is coming bum first…”

The room suddenly falls silent.

“It’s alright. I’ve… I’ve done it before, I can do this…” Clara continues nervously.

Élise swallows hard. “Did the mother and baby survive?” she asks in a trembling voice.

The apprentice midwife remains silent and stares at her blood-covered hands.

“Clara, you’re not answering…” Arno presses.

“The mother did, but the baby didn’t,” Clara finally admits. She then forces an unconvincing smile, in a desperate attempt to reassure the future parents, her friends. “But this doesn’t mean it’ll happen to you, you’ve got wide child-bearing hips, and seeing the first baby is rather small… You can do this. Only… I know you want to lie on the floor, but you’ll have to go sit on the stool. It’s better and safer for you and the baby.”

Élise nods, a grim look on her face. The combined strength of three pairs of arms lift her from the floor and half-guide, half-carry her to the birthing stool. She can barely feel her legs from all the pushing, and exhaustion is setting in. Somehow, she will have to find the energy to give birth to the second baby, and doubt is beginning to fill her mind. “Arno, if anything happens…” she murmurs as he kneels next to her, his arm wrapped around her back.

“No, you’re not saying goodbye, Élise. Don't be ridiculous!”

“Listen to me!” she sobs. She stares into his soft brown eyes, bringing a hand to his face to caress his cheek. “Should anything happen to me, please remember what I asked you to do for me. I love you, with all my heart. Tell the children how much I loved them...” She breaks into loud sobs, from sorrow and from pain, and he pulls her close, covering her cheeks with soft kisses.

“I will. But you’re talking nonsense. You’re not going to die. You’re going to bring this baby into this world, and live to see him grow into a fine man,” he whispers in her ear. Just as this morning when it became clear the babies would not make it to being full-term, he is hiding his own fears under a veneer of self-control.

She stares into his eyes again and takes a deep breath. _Oh God, please help me, please give me strength,_ she prays silently.

Clara kneels in front of Élise, ready to catch the baby. “Élise, listen to me. I know you’re tired. At the next contraction, I want you to give everything you’ve got. And same at the next, and the next. You have to push this baby out as fast as you can.” Elena had explained they only had minutes between the freeing of the baby’s legs and the pushing out of the head before it might be too late, and she was very aware they literally had no time to lose.

“I understand,” Élise nods. She whimpers, the next contraction striking again like clockwork.

Arno moves behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders for reassurance, as to say _I’m here, lean on me, use my strength_.

“ÉLISE, PUSH!”

Aided by gravity and Arno whispering encouragements in her ear, she draws every remaining ounce of strength from deep within her body and her soul to push over and over again, and with loud a scream of relief, she pushes the baby out into the world at last. Drained from all energy, she collapses on the stool, panting heavily, and Arno scrambles to prevent her from falling off.  
“Madeleine, give me the blanket, _NOW_!” Clara orders. The urgency in her voice caught everyone’s attention. She had cleaned his face, emptied his mouth, even sucked on his nose and spat the mucus out, but the baby was not responding. “Come on, little boy, let us hear you!” she urges as she roughly rubs the blanket on the skin of his chest, his arms, and his back. After what feels like an eternity, his skin gradually turns from grey to pink, and the baby gives a small cry, like the mew of a kitten. “Yes, that’s better!” Clara coos, continuing to rub the life into him. Suddenly, he lets out a loud cry, wailing long and hard, and everyone heaves a sigh of relief.

“Madeleine, bring her the other baby, please. Élise, you need to feed your babies right now. It’ll help against the bleeding,” Clara says as she swiftly clamps and cuts the umbilical cord, before wrapping the baby in the blanket and handing him to a weak and trembling Élise.

“Am I bleeding?” Élise asks in a low voice as she hesitantly takes the baby from Clara’s hands to cradle him against her chest. Finally, she was holding one of her sons in her arms, her heart swelling with love and pride.

“Not yet, but you’ve still got everything else to deliver,” Clara replies gravely. Labor had been long and difficult, Élise was weak from exhaustion – the worst was behind them, or so they hoped.

“How do I even… two at a time… I can’t…” Élise protests in a barely audible voice, her trembling hands struggling to uncover her breast and aligning the head of her infant with her nipple to feed him.

“I’m right here behind you. I'll even hold them for you, if you want.” To show her he meant every word he said, he slides his arm around hers and takes her hand in his, offering his support, his skin warm and comforting against her cold and clammy flesh.

“He’s so tiny, look at him! Another miniature Arno…”she beams, smitten by the tranquil baby in her arms.

“And here you are, baby François Dorian. You had to make us worry a little, didn’t you?” Arno says, reaching out to nudge the baby’s wee hand. The baby curls his hand around his finger and holds on tight.

Madeleine hands baby Charles to Élise, and with both Arno’s and Madeleine’s help, and a lot of patience, the babies latch at her nipples – Charles sucking noisily and voraciously, François licking and sucking gently.

“I had forgotten how painful the cramps are when feeding a baby,” she moans, biting down on her lip.

“It’s your womb trying to push everything out, and stop the bleeding at the same time. A woman’s body is a marvelous thing, when you think about it!” Clara says cheerfully while placing a metal pail under the stool, ready for the final delivery.

“Are they both healthy? François wouldn't breathe,” Arno remarks, his voice full of worry.

“Yes, they are absolutely fine. They are small, but it’s normal for babies born too soon. And twins are smaller too.”

Seemingly content with her answer, Arno nods, his gaze locked on his sons in Élise’s arms.

“Shall I go tell the good news to your mother, Freddie, and Marianne? They must be anxiously waiting to hear from us! And mademoiselle Julie, she has to meet her baby brothers!” Madeleine says, head cocked to the side, affectionately looking down at the little miracles.

“Please do!” Clara replies. “Perhaps they can come by later with Julie, when we’re done here.”

“Certainly! Congratulations again, Monsieur Arno and Madame Élise. I am blessed – no, I’m double blessed! – to have been part of this beautiful moment of your lives. And it’s been an honor to help you, sweet Clara.”

* * *

**12:25**

In a hurry, they had unlatched the babies from Élise’s breasts to have her lie on the floor. The placenta had been delivered and as feared, she was bleeding, and Clara had to repeatedly press on her womb with both hands to curb it. Concerned, Arno paced around the room, rocking and swaying two upset newborns. In tears, Élise endured the painful manipulations, too weak to resist or complain. It was her vision coming true again, to her utter despair. To Arno and Élise’s relief, Clara announced after long, long minutes that the bleeding was under control, that Élise really didn’t seem to bleed as much as the last time, and that she could be helped into bed to continue feeding the twins.

“Forgive me, Clara, I had to come and have a look,” Marcera says as she enters the room a few short moments later, carrying a large tall jug of water, a glass of fresh goat milk, and some bread for Élise. She knew she must be thirsty and hungry. “Oh my, they are so precious!!” she exclaims upon catching sight of the tiny baby boys at Élise’s breasts.

“Do you want to give me a hand with cleaning, mother? I could really use some help!” Clara’s voice is quivering and her whole body is shaking, the adrenaline leaving her body, replaced with the reality of what had just happened.

“Gladly! Madeleine told me this was quite an eventful birth…”

“She delivered them both on her own, even the second one who came down bum first!” Arno comments with a large grin.

“Oh, it's nothing, really,” Clara dismisses. “Élise had to do all the work! I just helped…”

“Clara, stop diminishing your part in this,” Élise protests. She swallows loudly, her throat and mouth almost too dry to speak. “You stayed calm, you ordered us around like an army general, and you knew just how to pull that baby out of me. We couldn't have done this without you. For a first delivery without Elena, and a twins birth for heaven's’ sake, you did excellent. Take the credit when it's due!”

“I'm so proud of you!” Marcera says as she embraces her daughter.

“Mother, I'm covered in blood…” Clara chuckles nervously, repressing her tears. Her mother expressing her pride and giving approval to her life choice meant the world to her, the crowning achievement following her earlier baptism of fire. “Let's finish cleaning the room, I'm sure everyone else is impatient to meet the twins!”

As mother and daughter busy themselves with cleaning and removing all traces of blood and fluids from the room, Arno and Élise focus their attention on the new additions to the family.

“Are their tummies full already?” Arno asks, noticing the babies had stopped suckling.

“Looks like it. Do you want to hold and burp François? I think he's sound asleep.”

“I would love to. I haven't held him yet. Come here, little one.” He takes the sleeping infant from Élise’s arms and brings him to his chest, gently patting his back. The baby looks so fragile and so tiny swaddled in his blanket, even tinier than his brother did when he held him after he was born.

“Charles and me are going to cuddle for a little while, and get to know each other,” Élise says as she cradles her son to her shoulder, leaning her cheek against his head. A faint smile appears on her lips, and she breathes out in relief.

It was over, the twins were born.

* * *

**13:45**

Climbing stairs with his crutches has always been a challenge for Freddie, especially when it came to the staircases in Arno and Élise’s house. It was steep and narrow, nothing like the wide staircases of the house he is living in with Madeleine, Hélène and Jacques in Paris.

One by one, with Madeleine behind him ready to offer her support, he climbs the stairs to the masters’ bedroom. Marianne is following closely behind, carrying a quiet and slumbering Julie in her arms. It was soon to be nap time for her, and her eyes were fluttering as she fought sleepiness.

“We have visitors, Charles, look!” Élise coos as Freddie hobbles into the room. Resting comfortably in bed, after enjoying a much needed meal, she felt exhausted, but content. Curled up against Arno with his arm around her shoulder, she was holding Charles in her arms, while Arno was holding François in the crook of his free arm. The perfect family picture, which could not fail to touch even the hardest of hearts.

Madeleine pulls the armchair next to the bed for Freddie to sit on, and he does as quietly as possible, afraid of making a noise that would startle the babies.

“I’m a bit speechless,” he says with a large grin, tears welling in his eyes. He was a grandfather again – sort of. And he couldn’t stop staring at the little ones.

“ _Congratulations_ is perhaps the word you’re looking for?” Élise teases with a chuckle.

“Well, yes, of course. Congratulations, my child. And congratulations to you, Arno. Welcome to the family, little boys. I heard they were named after your fathers?”

“They brought us together, didn’t they?” Élise replies. “Even if unintentionally…”

Arno nods. “And the least we can do to thank them is honor their memory.”

“This is Charles, the oldest…” Élise says, gently caressing the baby’s cheek.

“And this is François,” Arno continues. “He thought coming to this world bum first was a good idea!”

Freddie laughs heartily. “Is he going to be the one always wanting to do everything differently from his brother?”

“Perhaps. Time will tell what he and his brother will grow up to be,” Élise says with a smile.

“Following in their father’s footsteps... or in their mother’s?” Freddie asks, not disguising his hope that Élise will raise her children as Templars.

“Preferably following their own path. The last thing we need is the family to be torn apart…” she says in a voice choked by emotion. Arno pulls her a bit closer against him, and presses his lips on her forehead. No one knew about her visions, except him, and he was sharing her fears.

Freddie nods, attributing Élise’s emotional reaction to fatigue. “We should leave you alone, it’s been a long day for you, and undoubtedly you need to rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

They exchange smiles before he gets off his chair. “Congratulations again to you both,” he says wholeheartedly. “You make a beautiful family, all together.”

He waves goodbye and blows two kisses in the direction of the twins, and hobbles out of the room, with Madeleine’s arm wrapped around his waist.

At the back of the room, Julie was standing close to Marianne and clutching at her leg, staring doubtfully at her parents.

“Julie? Do you want to meet your baby brothers?” Élise asks, meeting her daughter’s quizzical gaze and smiling. “Do you want to meet the babies that were in mama’s belly?”

Marianne reassures Julie with a smile and gives her a gentle nudge to get closer to the bed, but the little girl shakes her head and raises her arms, asking to be picked up. “Alright, come here,” Marianne says as she scoops her up.

Arno carefully lays François in Élise’s arms, before taking Julie into his own. He then sits next to Élise, with his daughter on his lap. “Look, Julie,” he says, pointing at the twins. “This is François, and this is Charles!”

The little girl frowns and stares timidly at the babies, finger in mouth, biting at her nail.

“You don’t have to be scared, the babies won’t hurt you!” Arno says, wondering what is going through his daughter’s mind as she begins to smile.

“Beebee!” Julie repeats, her smile widening.

Élise chuckles. “Yes, babies! They were in mama’s belly, do you remember?”

“Mama…” Julie grins and jumps off her father’s lap, arms extended, begging to be hugged by her mother.

“Mama’s arms are full, how about papa’s arms instead?” Élise suggests enthusiastically to a visibly disappointed Julie. She recognizes that little pouty lip, much like her own, when she doesn’t get what she wants. _Like mother, like daughter_ , she thinks to herself.

“She should be going down for her nap, it’s middle of the afternoon already,” Marianne chimes in. She had been discreetly watching Julie’s first meeting with her brothers, ready to jump to the rescue if they needed her. “And I should go back to work! Brioche is keeping an eye on the goats and the horses for me, but I need to clean the chickens’ coop, and the stables!”

“She can stay and nap with us, right Sweet Pea?” Arno says, reaching out to caress his daughter’s soft hair, but she turns her head away in frustration. _Like mother, like daughter_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. He turns towards Marianne. “How did it go on your own this morning? I’m sorry for leaving you on such a short notice!”

“It went quite alright. I had a great teacher!” Marianne shrugs with a smile. “Congratulations to you both, the boys look adorable! Can’t wait to spend more time with them! I love babies!” she adds cheerily before leaving the room.

The new family of five is now finally complete. Arno takes the tightly swaddled little bundles from Élise’s arms to lay them gently side by side and close together in the bassinet, before helping a whimpering Élise as she tries to find a more comfortable position to cuddle with Julie, who is now gleefully throwing herself into her mother’s freed arms.

“The boys are asleep, mama needs to rest, Julie needs to nap… and papa is going to join everyone and sleep too,” Arno announces with a sigh as he lets himself fall next to Élise and Julie.

“You pushed so hard today, no wonders you’re so tired!” Élise sneers with a smirk.

“Ha ha! I never pretended to have done all the work, you clearly did! No, I simply want to stay close and watch over my little family, if you don’t mind.”

He moves closer to his wife, embracing her and their daughter at the same time, and places soft kisses on Élise’s forehead and on the top of Julie’s head.

“Thank you for staying with me today,” Élise says softly. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“It's the least I could do,” he replies, planting another kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll need your help when they’ll need to be fed, or changed, or...” she says wearily, exhaustion from hours of labor, a sleepless night, and delivery of twins ultimately catching up with her.

“My love, you know I'm here for you. I’ll help you,” he murmurs. Between them, comforted by both her mother and her father’s presence, Julie has fallen asleep already. Resting their foreheads together, they close their eyes, and while Élise quickly drifts asleep, Arno’s mind starts to wander. He thinks of his father, realizing the emptiness in his heart left by his death had yet to be filled. _I’ll have to write a letter to papa later_ , he tells himself, in the hope that putting his scrambled thoughts on paper will allow him to process the whirlwind of emotions that is rising from deep within and gripping him.

* * *

**21:25**

After a long nap and a hearty meal prepared by Madeleine, a washing up, fresh sheets, fresh clothes, and hours of cuddling to get to know one another, it was time for bed. Clara came to check on Élise one last time before going back home for a well-deserved rest. She dispensed the usual advice – keep the windows and curtains shut, drink plenty of liquids, and come fetch her if Élise develops a fever.

The birth of the twins had caught them by surprise, and they didn’t have the time to prepare Julie to sleep in her own bedroom. Her crib was quickly moved to the adjacent bedroom in the afternoon, and Arno tried to explain that from now on, she was a big girl and she could sleep in her own room. His explanation was received with big skeptical brown eyes and a little furrowed brow.

The dreaded moment to bring Julie to her own room for the first time had come. She had been fed, and Élise had allowed her to stay much longer in her arms to ease the transition. But it didn’t take long for the little girl to realize what was happening when Arno carried her outside of the room. Big tears began rolling down her cheeks, and she was thrashing her arms and legs in protest.

“Shhhh Sweet Pea,” he says softly, hugging her to his chest to comfort her.

His attempt to put her down in her crib is met with strong resistance and a clear “No!”, as she begins to wriggle around, flailing her arms and legs, and arching backward.

Admitting defeat, he takes her back into his arms and sits on the floor next to her crib, with his back resting against the wall.

“It’s okay, you have every right to be upset,” he murmurs as he gently strokes his sobbing daughter’s back. ”It’s been quite a day for you, hasn’t it? You’re a big sister now, and I know you don’t understand what it means just yet. But papa loves you, and mama loves you, and your baby brothers love you too. I know they do.”

Thumb firmly in mouth, she hiccups between sniffles, and he tightens his embrace.

“And you’re probably afraid,” he continues. “You know what, Sweet Pea? I’m afraid, too. Afraid to lose your mother, to lose you, or your brothers.” He kisses her forehead before leaning his cheek on her head. “But we must never lose faith things will get better.”

In his arms, Julie had calmed down and stopped crying. His second attempt at putting her down in her crib was met with whimpers and a pouty lip, but she didn’t resist. He tucks her in, placing her favorite toy and blanket within her reach.

“Don’t worry, papa will stay with you until you fall asleep,” he says as he softly caresses her chubby cheek. “Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf…” he begins to sing, his voice gentle and his words hesitant. As he gradually remembers them, he continues singing, words stumbling one after the other. “Der Vater hüt' die Schaf... die Mutter schüttelt 's Bäumelein… Da fällt herab ein Träumelein… Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf…”

And he sings again, until he is certain Julie is sleeping.

“Süße Träume, kleines Mädchen,” he whispers as he places a kiss on her cheek before tiptoeing out of the room, not completely closing the door behind him.

Back in their room, he finds Élise dozing off. In the bassinet, the twins are beginning to fuss, their hungry mouths opening and closing.

“Gosh, I can’t tell you apart from your brother,” he says as he picks up one of the twins to bring him to Élise. “You are François, aren’t you?”

She yawns, then chuckles. “If he’s a wee bit smaller than his brother, then yes, this is François you’re holding!”

He holds his son in front of him, trying to gauge his size. “I’m not sure…”

He hands her the baby and she puts him at her breast, while he picks the other one.

“Yes, this is Charles, for sure,” she says, designating the baby in his arms with her chin. “Look, he’s bigger than his brother…”

He examines the baby in his arms, shaking his head. “If you say so!”

After helping her put Charles at her breast, he undresses and crawls into bed.

“Your singing voice had me almost falling asleep again!,” she says with a warm smile. “Although, it’s the first time I hear you sing in... German!”

He moves closer, his eyes not leaving the tiny babies drinking in her arms. “Buried memories resurfacing. My mother used to speak to me in German when it was just the two of us. In front of everyone else, she would be speaking French. I couldn’t remember the words at first, but once I got started, they just… flew.”

“She must have loved you very much to be herself when she was alone with you, letting her guard down. She wanted you to know about her country, it's rather moving.”

“I don't think it had anything to do with love,” he retorts bitterly.

She sighs. “You still haven’t fully forgiven her, have you?”

“One day, perhaps. Right now, my children and my wife are my only concern.” He moves closer still to rest his head on her shoulder, reaching to delicately stroke the babies’ heads with his fingertips. “I look at you and our sons in awe. What I witnessed today… You're the strongest and the most amazing woman I know.”

“I'm not so special,” she snorts. “Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time! Including your mother!”

“How do you even find the strength to continue, after hours of excruciating pain?” he asks, pulling his head back to meet her gaze.

“I just keep pushing until the baby comes out. It’s as if my soul and my body are taken over by higher powers, I don't have much of a choice!”

“I find it incredible nonetheless.” He turns his gaze back to the twins. “Whoever said women were the weaker sex had it terribly wrong!”

“Looks like Charles is done eating already, aren't you a little glutton, my baby boy!” she coos, leaning down to kiss her son’s forehead.

Arno sits straight, taking Charles from Élise’s arms. “Come into papa's arms!” he says as he cradles his baby over his shoulder, patting and rubbing his back.

“Are you happy?” she asks out of the blue, glancing affectionately at her husband.

“What do you think? You've given me two beautiful sons today, and last year you've given me an adorable daughter. You're here, with me, in our home, where we’re safe. _What do you think?_ ” he repeats with a large grin.

“Just making sure,” she teases, returning his smile. Seeing him happy was all she ever wanted. And seeing him so happy was all she needed to forget the pain and the exhaustion from labor and childbirth, other than the sheer elation she felt herself when she held her newborns in her arms for the first time. Gazing down at François, she notices he had stopped drinking. “Hey hey, my baby, no falling asleep,” she says softly while caressing his cheek. Stirred awake, François resumes suckling. “There you go, that's better!”

“I don't think we'll be sleeping much tonight,” he says with a yawn, reaching an arm around her shoulders.

“Welcome to parenthood!” she says, shifting her body into a more comfortable position.

They stare into each other's eyes deeply, a smile of uncontainable happiness they cannot help crossing their lips, until he leans in and presses his lips to hers for long overdue kiss.

* * *

**June 7, 1796**

**3:50am**

Wide awake, Arno watches over Élise sleeping next to him, once in a while reaching with his hand to delicately touch her hair. It has been a long and exhilarating day, and he can’t find sleep coming to him. His mind is continuously reeling with thoughts about his father, and about his own responsibility has a father towards his children. And Élise’s words are resonating in his head – _Should anything happen to me, please remember what I asked you to do for me_. Yes, he remembered, how could he forget the sword of Damocles hanging above their family?

With a deep sigh, he gets out of bed and gets dressed, having lost his last illusion about ever falling asleep. He’d have to get up in a couple of hours to start working anyway.

He peers over his newborn babies in the bassinet, and smiles. The boys are peacefully sleeping next to each other, and he finds it impossible to believe they would one day fight one another. Would they both become Assassins or would they pick a side? What would their grandfathers think of them fighting each other? _Their grandfathers_ … he sighs.

Downstairs, he lights up a candle and sets it on the kitchen table, followed by an open bottle of wine and a glass. At this right moment, the door of the guest room opens, and Freddie appears in the doorway. Sleep was also eluding him, and when he heard Arno in the kitchen, he didn’t hesitate to join him.

With a movement of the head, Arno fetches a second glass from the counter and sets it on the table opposite of his own.

“Are the babies’ cries keeping you up?” Arno asks as Freddie lets himself plop on his chair.

The older man sighs deeply, then shrugs. “Among other things. Bah. It’s quite alright. Babies cry.”

Arno pours wine in both glasses. “Do you have children, Freddie?”

“Sadly, no,” he answers with a wistful expression on his face. “I only loved one woman, Élise’s mother. And when our relationship had to end, I swore I would never let my heart be broken once again.” And Julie de la Serre was the reason he couldn’t sleep that night. When he entered the room and saw Élise holding her newborn babies in her arms, his heart broke once more. He hadn’t been allowed near Julie when Élise was born, nor was he allowed near them – and especially near Élise – for several years, François keeping a close guard on his wife and child, the rivalry between the two men for Julie’s heart reaching its peak with Élise’s arrival into the world. _At least I was allowed to meet Élise’s children_ , he thinks to himself. It didn’t erase the past heartbreaks, but it surely eased the pain.

“I bet thinking about your father is what is keeping you up,” Freddie comments before taking a large gulp of wine.

“How did you guess?” Arno says with a smirk. _Am I such an open book?_ he wonders, and he too takes a large gulp of wine.

“Nothing like the birth of his sons to make a man think of his own father.”

Arno nods. “He was a good man, a kind man. When my mother left, he became my world, my everything. Nevertheless, I came to realize I don’t really know him. I don’t really know who my own father was.” And if there was a promise he made to himself when he heard Élise was pregnant with their first child, it was that his children would know who their father was. He would be there for them, he would never leave them, whatever happens. And yet, he was being pushed towards breaking this promise, and it was making his head spin.

“Did François ever tell you anything about your father’s death?” Freddie asks, pulling Arno out of his contemplation.

He shakes his head. “Monsieur de la Serre never told me who murdered my father. Neither did I ask. The past is the past.,” he says sourly. “Was he a Templar?” Freddie nods, and Arno rolls his eyes. “Of course. It figures. And I bet you know who he is.”

Freddie nods again. “Shay Patrick Cormac.”

“Is he English?” Arno asks with a frown. He doesn’t remember hearing the name being pronounced in the de la Serre’s house, but at the same time, he was never included in the inner family circles and discussions, especially when it came to anything relating to the Templars.

“Irish. He was an Assassin, like your father, but he later joined the Templars after becoming… disgruntled, to say the least, with the Assassins and their methods.”

“And a turncoat, too,” Arno snorts. ”This gets better!” He empties his glass, and fills it again immediately. He finds the murderer’s background as an Assassin rather unsettling. _Assassins turning against each other, where did I hear that before?_ he thinks to himself bitterly, his mind drifting to Pierre Bellec. _More wine, I need more wine._

“Should you ever want to find him, look in America’s direction,” Freddie suggests matter-of-factly.

Arno stares at Freddie in disbelief. “Why would I want to find him? To kill him? What would I achieve by doing this, besides making his own children orphans? Where would this revenge get me? Will it change the past? Will it bring my father back?” He shakes his head, looking down at the glass in his hand. “The day my father died is the day Élise became my world, my everything. I cannot imagine my life without her. I should be thankful, instead…” He hesitates an instant before asking: “Élise asked me to rejoin the Brotherhood, and plead for peace with the Templars. Has she mentioned this to you?”

Freddie raises an eyebrow, bewildered. “No, she hasn’t. However, it doesn’t surprise me. She has this from her mother, this insane idea that peace is possible.”

“And you clearly disagree!” Arno notes, amused by Freddie’s cynical response.

“Utopia, that’s what it is,” the older man spits before meeting Arno’s gaze, a grim look on his face. “Don’t waste your life fighting windmills. You will never achieve peace.” His look softens, and a smile appears on his lips. “But if you are as stubborn as she is, and if you want to accept this mission, Élise’s journals and her possessions are where you should start looking to seek support. It might even take you to America…” he says before emptying his glass and setting it noisily on the table.

Arno nods thoughtfully, his mind conflicted as ever. The cry of a baby, very faint at first, then becoming louder and joined by another cry, diverts Arno’s attention back to reality.

“I should go back upstairs, Élise will need my help,” he says as he gets off his chair.

“Arno, even though I never met him, I know your father would be proud of you. And so would François,” Freddie says with an appreciative smile. “You are a wonderful, loving, and caring father. And the best husband for Élise.”

Arno returns his smile, deeply moved by his words. “I’m trying my best. It’s not always easy…”

“Being a father is never easy.” _Neither is trying to be a surrogate father_ , he thinks to himself. He motions Arno to leave him and go attend to his family’s needs. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll finish this bottle and go back to bed. Madeleine is going to wonder where I disappeared to, and I’ll never hear the end of it…”

Before parting, the two men shake hands, and exchange level, steady looks that held a touch of mutual amity and respect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now definitely venturing deep into headcanon territory...


	22. For Love and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much later than I would have hoped, but at least it's perfectly on time for Father's Day!
> 
> I'm afraid I don't know when I'll be able to post the next chapter, unless I can find someone to help me. I have been crippled by a hand injury, and typing is rather difficult... So if you feel like helping, please let me know in the comments... :'(

[Father and Sons](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/art/Father-and-Sons-615881094) by [ForeverFallen16](http://foreverfallen16.deviantart.com/)

**June 8, 1796**

The twins are two days old, and while the fear of Élise developing a fever is decreasing as time goes by, she hasn’t stopped worrying about her babies born a little too soon, and her instinct is dictating her to protect her babies at all costs. She is determined to do everything in her power as a mother to ensure their survival – with warmth, milk, and love.

“You’re full already?” she coos as Charles unlatches from her breast with a smack of his tiny lips. “Take your time, my baby boy, this isn’t a race! There’s plenty of milk for everyone!” Cradled in her other arm, François had fallen asleep, his mouth still at her nipple. Smiling, she shakes the sleeping baby a little to wake him up, but she is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in!” she says, her eyes not leaving the slumbering newborn at her breast, while she carefully maneuvers to bring Charles to her shoulder to burp him. Feeding two newborns simultaneously had been a challenge from the very first time, the operation further complicated by their very different feeding habits. “Oh, hello!” she greets with a large grin as she finally notices Elena and Clara standing at the foot of the bed. She had assumed it was Marianne or Madeleine routinely checking on her and the twins, but she was glad to see her midwives paying her a visit.

“We’re dropping by to see how you’re doing,” Clara says, approaching Élise from the side of the bed. “You’ve got your hands full, I see!”

“That, I have!” Élise nods, lightly patting Charles back with one hand, while shaking François awake with the other. “It’s… difficult, to say the least.”

“How are they doing? Are they drinking well?” Elena asks with a frown and a note of concern in her voice. Élise’s attempts at keeping François awake didn’t go unnoticed to the experienced midwife.

“Charles is the oldest, the biggest, the strongest, and quite frankly, the hungriest! He likes to drink fast, and cuddle for the longest of times when his tummy is full. While François…” Élise looks down at the baby still drinking at her breast, a faint and worried smile on her lips. “He is drinking his share of milk, but he needs encouragement. Otherwise, he falls asleep or he's just licking instead of suckling. And he’s not crying as much as his brother.”

“But they are drinking the same?” Elena insists, as she observes the newborns in Élise’s arms.

Élise nods. “They are, eventually. Is there something wrong with François? Is he…?”  _ Is he healthy? Is he alright? _ she is dying to ask, but she can’t bring herself to finish her question. “They were born too early after all, he wouldn’t breathe, and he’s a bit smaller than Charles, he worries me…” she says, her voice strangled.

Elena approaches the bed to take a closer look at the twins. “If François is drinking his full share, and he’s reacting well and being awake otherwise, you have nothing to worry about,” she reassures. “He is simply a little slower than his brother, he’ll catch up. They might be twins, but they have different personalities.”

“And with a lot of love and a lot of milk, you’ll grow up to be big and strong like your papa!” she coos and smiles at her baby, and the baby gurgles in return, making her giggle.

Clara sits on the edge of the bed and looks at her friend. “Are  _ you  _ alright? Do you have any pain, or... other troubles?”

Élise meets her gaze and shakes her head. “Besides my breasts being sore as ever from feeding three children, my hips and my back that are still killing me, and the rather overwhelming responsibilities of having to care for two newborns and a toddler…” She sighs, and smiles at Clara. “I’ll pull through. I have help. I’m not alone.”  _ Not like when Julie was born, _ she thinks to herself.  _ I wasn’t alone, but I was certainly lonely _ .

“Good,” Clara says, returning her smile. “Remember, we’re here for you. And Mother will gladly come and help you as often as you need. And my sisters-in-law, too. It’s not every day that twins are born in this town. You were on everyone’s lips at the market yesterday, Mother said!”

“Was I?” Élise chuckles, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank you. Arno was saying yesterday there’s hay to be made the coming week, we could certainly use some help, both for the hay and for feeding everyone!”

“I’ll spread the word! And we’ll leave you to rest,” Clara concludes with a nod.

“I’ll put them down in their bassinet and take a short nap while I can. They’ll be demanding milk again in a few hours, those hungry little mouths!”

“Take care of yourself, do you hear me?” Elena urges, pointing almost accusingly at Élise. “And  _ ask for help _ .”

“I will,” Élise replies with a grateful smile. She waves her visitors goodbye and after several minutes of kisses and cuddles, she lays the tiny swaddled bundles in the bassinet. She then reclines comfortably in bed and closes her eyes. Elena’s encouragements regarding François having somewhat appeased her fears, she allows herself to drift asleep.

* * *

As every afternoon since Élise was confined in bed, Élise is telling Julie a story to soothe her to sleep for her nap, a story she’s inventing and changing every day, of a little girl who grew up with loving parents, many horses, and a big dog. The story is the life Élise would have dreamt for herself, a story of freedom and discoveries, and she hoped one day it would inspire her daughter to make her own discoveries, just like the little girl in her story. Curled up next to her, Julie is attentively listening to her mother’s voice, her eyelashes fluttering as she’s fighting sleep, but her baby brothers’ fussiness and cries abruptly interrupt the storytelling, and Julie voices her displeasure by protesting loudly.

“Wait a moment Julie Bunny, mama has to give milk to your baby brothers,” Élise says cheerily, as she very gently moves Julie aside to make room around herself to feed the twins. This move was received with more protest and more sobs. “I’ll continue the story in a second I promise!” Élise adds before picking the infants up one after the other, and placing them at her breasts, using pillows to support them.

As Julie watches her mother settle down to feed the twins, she gradually calms down from sobs to sniffles and whimpers. Carefully, she approaches her mother and her brothers, and reaches to tap Élise’s arm.

“Mama, mi’!” she says, staring at her mother with a furrowed brow and a pouty lip.

Élise chuckles. “You already had something to eat, and now it’s your baby brothers’ turn. You’ll get milk before going to bed tonight!”

“‘MI’!” Julie insists, the pouty lip turning into a deep frown.

Élise takes a deep breath, her patience running out. “Julie, listen to me, listen to mama: you’re a big sister now, you have to share. I'll continue our story in a moment, I promise!” she says softly, yet firmly.

“MI’!” Julie cries and sobs, and before her mother could stop her, she hits François on the head with her little clenched fist, the startled baby immediately starting to wail.

“JULIE! STOP!” Élise shouts in anger. “Do not hit your baby brother ever, do you hear me?”

As she moves to take a hold of Julie’s hands and prevent her from hitting her brother any further, Charles unlatches from her nipple and starts crying, not appreciating his meal being interrupted.

Having lost control over her two upset babies and her agitated toddler, Élise breaks down and her own sobbing joins the one of her childrens.

“Madame Élise, what is the matter?” Madeleine comes running. She heard Élise’s loud voice followed by the babies’ cries, and she immediately knew something was wrong.

Stunned, Élise is unable to answer, her shoulders rising and falling as she sobs softly.

Shaking her head with a click of the tongue, Madeleine takes the twins away from her one by one, laying them gently in the bassinet. Both babies are wailing at the top of their lungs, and she rocks the bassinet in an attempt to soothe them.

Still sobbing, but with her arms free, Élise reaches out with her arms to hug Julie and hold her tightly against her chest, placing soft little kisses on top of her daughter’s head. “I’m so sorry my Julie Bunny, mama didn’t mean to shout. Mama loves you.”

They cry together until the tears stop running, and until both mother and daughter have calmed down. Thumb firmly in her mouth, Julie snuggles next to her Élise, with her head on her mother’s lap, satisfied with the attention and comforting she received. The twins are still fussing in the bassinet, but Élise isn’t acknowledging their cries.

“What happened?” Madeleine asks quietly, handing Élise a handkerchief.

“I was telling her a story as I always do before her nap,” Élise begins, drying her eyes. “And I had to feed the twins, and she got upset, and she hit François, and I yelled at her, and…” With a lament, Élise begins sobbing again, feeling ashamed for losing control over herself and her children.

“Oh my poor Madame Élise!” Madeleine says, rubbing her arms in a hopefully comforting way. “Do you want me to take Mademoiselle Julie off your hands?”

Élise shakes her head vehemently, caressing her daughter’s hair. “No, I want her to stay with me. It’s story time!”

Madeleine smiles warmly. “And by the sound of it, it’s also meal time for the little boys.”

Élise returns her smile, and sighs. She simply can’t choose between her sons and her daughter. “Would you stay with me? And help me?” Élise asks, finally admitting to herself she needed more help than she was ready to accept.

“You don’t even need to ask.”

After Élise gets comfortable and gathers the pillows around her, being careful not to disrupt Julie, Madeleine picks up Charles and gives him to Élise for feeding, followed by François.

With her sons suckling avidly at her breasts, and her daughter resting quietly on her lap, Élise breathes a loud sigh of relief. “That’s much better. Right, Julie Bunny? Would you like Madeleine to make you bread with milk and honey? You like that, don’t you?”

The little girl nods. It had been a difficult process over the past weeks to get Julie to eat something else than only goat milk, or breast milk for that matter, as she didn’t seem interested in eating the foods adults around her were eating. But soggy bread soaked in fresh goat milk and a spoonful of honey seemed to open up her appetite.  _ I wonder who was the worst picky eater between me and Arno _ , Élise often asked herself, as they struggled to get Julie to even take one bite of piece of carrot in her soup.  _ She has to be taking after one of us! _

“Come with me, little Mademoiselle Julie.” Madeleine opens her arms, inviting Julie to come to her, and the little girl smiles before accepting the invitation, and she crawls into Madeleine’s arms.

“After she eats, would you put her down for her nap? Meanwhile, I’ll continue feeding these hungry little boys… quietly,” Élise says, looking down at her hungry babies.

Madeleine nods. “Of course!” She stands on her feet and walks towards the door, carrying Julie in her arms. “Madame Élise, I’m worried about you,” she suddenly says as she gets near the doorway. “I’m here for you. And the lovely Marianne is here, too. And Monsieur Arno. And Freddie.  And the neighbors. And everyone else I haven’t met yet. If you need anything…”

Élise smiles, her heart warmed by Madeleine’s words of kindness. “Thank you. I have to learn to ask for help…” she says with a sheepish smile.

“Some women go through very dark times after giving birth,” Madeleine confides hesitantly, her expression turned grave. “It’s not something one talks openly about. I was one of those. I know what you’ve been through.”

Élise frowns in surprise at the older woman’s admission. She never imagined herself being the only woman facing a long and dark winding tunnel after birth, but she had never expected jolly Madeleine to be one of them. They exchange understanding smiles, a tacit acknowledgement of this new bond between them, and of feelings and emotions which usually remain unsaid and unshared. And as they leave, Julie waves goodbye, her mother making kisses sounds in return.

* * *

The twins are asleep after being fed, changed and cuddled, and Julie is finally asleep too after a series of stories, lullabies, and cuddles.

“Madeleine told me what happened today with Julie,” Arno says as he crawls into bed besides Élise and wraps her in his arms. With a contented sigh, he presses his lips to her forehead for a long and warm kiss. She still smelled of blood, sweat, and milk, remnants of the hard work of childbirth just a few days before. He had missed her, and he didn’t want to pass on this chance to be alone with her, if only for a few minutes.

“I yelled at her, I feel so ashamed…” she says softly, swallowing back her tears, emotions from the afternoon resurfacing.

“She didn’t want to share, she threw a tantrum, and you got impatient. Stop blaming yourself, you’ve just given birth, and caring for three young children all on your own is a lot to ask of you.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not raising her as I should, I'm spoiling her, and now all of a sudden the twins take all my time and energy, and I’m not spending as much time with her as I used to. She probably hates me...”

“No, she doesn’t. And she’ll learn sooner or later that your heart has only gotten bigger with the birth of her brothers, there’s room for everyone in there.”

Giving in to comfort and warmth, she sinks in his embrace, nuzzling him as a child would do. “Why is everyone suddenly so nice to me, and insisting on helping me?” she asks after a long silence. “And why did Madeleine mention dark days after giving birth? I never even shared this with you. How did she know?”

He doesn’t answer. She pulls her head away to meet his gaze. “Arno? Answer me!” she presses with a scowl.

“I… I might have read your journal…” he admits reluctantly. A day earlier, before sunrise, a few hours following his conversation with Freddie and while Élise was sound asleep, he nervously peered inside the top drawer of the chest with his heart beating in his throat. He knew that’s where she kept her older journals – or so he thought.

“You did what?” she exclaims, louder than she intended. Ears peeled, she waits, expecting to hear the whimpers of the twins, but they are still sleeping. “Arno, this is private!” she adds in an exaggerated whisper.

“I spoke to Freddie the other day, and he said…He said I might find clues about my father’s murderer in your journals.”

“What clues?” she scoffs in disbelief. “There’s nothing in there, I don’t even know who killed your father!”

“Freddie said he was a Templar, from the Colonies. I have his name…”

“The Colonies, you said?” she interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Why?”

“Haytham Kenway was Templar Grand Master of the Colonial Rite until his death, many years ago. His sister gave me his letters to read… It’s a long story. Perhaps your father’s murderer was close to Kenway. This could be the clue Freddie was talking about. But why on Earth didn’t you simply ask me, instead of snooping around behind my back?”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me,” he apologizes, giving her his best puppy eyes. “I didn’t mean to go behind your back. I didn’t want to burden you with my own personal quests and questions; you have enough of your own troubles as it is.”

_ You and your puppy eyes _ , she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. “Which journals did you read?”

“Only the most recent one, I couldn’t find the others. Did you hide them from me?” he asks in a mocking tone.

“I know you, Arno Victor Dorian. I knew you’d get curious eventually,” she teases. “I won’t tell you where I’ve hidden my other journals. You promised you’d wait until I was ready.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he sighs derisively. “Another promise I broke…”

“There’s nothing in my newest journal I don’t want you to read. However, I would have appreciated you simply ask.”

“You read the letters I wrote my father!”

“I read one letter! And not even entirely!” she retorts with a scoffing puff of her cheeks, and they both burst into laughter.

“I said I was sorry!” he says, his tone suddenly warm and loving. He caresses her cheek and stares into her eyes, as if he was searching for something. “And when I read about this melancholy and this darkness in your heart after Julie was born, I wanted to understand. In case it happens again. I’ve taken Madeleine aside last evening, and I asked her if there was anything I could do to help you. She promised she’d keep a close eye on you.”

“And knowing her, she talked to Marianne, and Clara, and Marcera, and…” she chuckles.

“We’re all trying to help.”

She nods and smiles, touched by his caring and loving attentions. “I appreciate that, I sincerely do. But I’m fine! I’m more overwhelmed and exhausted than ever, but I don’t feel as melancholic or afraid as I was after I had Julie. It was instant love with my boys, my heart melts every time I hold them in my arms, and I would cuddle with them all day if I could! I broke down in tears today, but it had more to do with having my hands full and being tired, rather than melancholy or sorrow.”

“Good to hear. But if you ever…”

“Yes, I promise I will ask for help,” she interrupts, laughing. She snuggles back against his chest, savoring the feel of his arms around her body. “Are you going to track your father’s murderer?” she asks after a long silence.

“No, I won’t,” he snorts. “What would I gain from this, what would I achieve?”  _ I’m not like you, I don’t go on a bloody quest for revenge _ , he thinks to himself.

“You could get answers.”

“Answers won’t bring my father back.”

“Answers can help you heal.”

“The past is the past. Only time heals. And I’m certainly not going to leave you alone with the children. That’s not the father I want to be.”

He tightens his arms around her, breathing her in, feeling the generous curves of her body against his. As they both drift to sleep, they are startled by Charles’ whimpers, immediately joined by his brother’s.

“I don’t think we’ll get any sleep for the next… 10 years!” she moans, then laughs. It was too early to nurse them, and she wondered if they were cold, in pain, in need of changing, or just craving a cuddle.

“I’ll check on them,” he says before planting a kiss on her forehead. “Try to sleep.”

With a large smile on his face, he bends down over the bassinet and picks up his baby boys, holding them against his chest, hushing them until their crying ceased. No, there was too much at stake – the family’s safety first and foremost – and he couldn’t leave Élise and the children to pursue a fruitless quest for answers he didn’t need.

* * *

**June 11, 1796**

The call for help with harvesting hay had been heard. After several long hours of work, the house filled with laughter and joyful chatter. Many helpers’ family members brought presents for the twins’ birth – clothes for the most part, but also diaper cloths, blankets, and more.

“Hello, my love,” Arno says as he presses his lips to Élise’s for a soft kiss. “Everyone wants to see the twins!”

“I want to go downstairs too!” she moans petulantly. “I’ve been locked up in this room for far too long!”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’ve just given birth, you’re still too weak. No, it’s better you stay here.”

“I won’t stay long, just a few minutes,” she pleads, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you know when the last time I went to the market?  _ MONTHS _ ago! I’ve been seeing the same faces ever since I’ve been confined to this bed, the same four walls, I am going insane! This room too dark, there’s no air, I’m suffocating...”

“It’s too busy downstairs, it will be too much for you!”

“Arno, please, don’t make me beg!”

He stares into her teary eyes. His happy Élise had been slipping away the last two days, making place for a tired, prickly, and slightly melancholic Élise, and he had been afraid of losing her to downheartedness again.  _ Perhaps getting her out of this room...  _

“Fine,” he concedes with a loud sigh. “Just a few minutes. And you’re sitting down the whole time, no staying on your feet. If Marcera talks to Clara about me letting you out of the room, I’ll have both Clara and Elena slapping me across the head tomorrow morning, do you realize that?”

“And I thought you’d gladly take a hit for me?” she teases with a large grin, overjoyed at the idea of finally stepping out of their bedroom.

“Of course I would,” he chuckles, returning her smile. “But I’m serious. If you feel unwell or if something happens, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Thank you,” she says gratefully. “Gosh, I look terrible. I still have a 9-months-pregnant belly, my hair is a mess…”

“I don’t think anyone will care what you look like, they are more interested in the twins! And to me, you’ll always be the beautiful mother of my children,” he assures as he helps her on her feet.

While she washes up, he brushes her hair and ties it with a ribbon. He then hands her a clean chemise and a robe to cover up, before picking up Charles and handing him to her.

Holding François cradled in one arm, he follows her to the staircase, keeping a hand in the small of her back ready to hold her steady if she threatens to fall. She’s wincing at every step she takes, pain shooting through her back and her hips.  _ I have a long way to recover _ , she thinks to herself as she takes a deep breath before going down the stairs, one painful step at a time.

The twins and Élise are welcomed with a concert of “oh’s” and “ah’s”, everyone being overjoyed by her unexpected appearance and the one of the twins.

“I missed you all so much!” Élise says with a quivering voice, tears of joy threatening to brim in her eyes.

Arno, Élise, and the twins, make their way to the sofa, where she is settled comfortably. He then takes Charles from her arms into his, and boastfully introduces his sons to their guests.

She can’t help but smile, and her heart swells with love, seeing him so proud and looking adoringly at the babies in his arms.

“MAMA!” Julie shouts, trotting to the sofa with a beaming smile after escaping from Marianne’s watch. She was delighted to see her mother, and the feeling was mutual. Following Élise’s breakdown, and to ensure she recovers from childbirth while getting adjusted to the twins, Marianne and Madeleine have been caring for Julie and keeping her busy during the day, not without dealing with the mandatory tears and tantrums.

“Hello my baby Bunny! Have you been a good girl today?” Élise coos, scooping her daughter onto her lap and covering her cheeks with kisses. “Did you help Marianne picking up the eggs this morning? Did you play with Brioche and Mademoiselle Moustache? Did you help your papa cut the hay?” she asks, and the little girl nods at each of her question with a giggle. She plants a noisy kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “Good girl!”

“You had to ignore all advice and come downstairs. Some things never change…” Freddie says, rolling his eyes with a smile, as he lets himself plop on the sofa next to Élise, and then sets his crutches aside.

“I needed fresh air. And I missed them all,” she says with a shrug.

“I have to say, it’s quite something to see all these people in your house. You can feel the warmth.” He points with his chin towards the kitchen table, around which everyone was gathered to eat and drink. “Life is hard, and here they are, laughing and smiling.”

“Hardship brings people together. We couldn’t have survived without their help and support when we started with no money and this little mouth to feed,” she explains looking down at Julie snuggled comfortably on her lap, with her head resting on her mother’s chest. “Every day, while very pregnant, I brought a bunch of eggs to the baker in exchange of a loaf of bread a bit of flour. I took the milk to the cheese maker in exchange of a few coins to buy the bare necessities. I grew my own vegetables. I sometimes sold a couple cakes at a fair. We offered shelter to passersby. Not only did we have to do this in order to survive, but we needed to win their trust. We were the strangers, the posh Parisians with an accent, who came out of nowhere to buy the biggest farm in the region. Not everyone was this warm to us in the beginning. I’m proud to say we won most of them over, with a lot of patience. And whenever we can, we give back and we lend a helping hand. Today, they all came to help us, for a few coins, a bit of wine and a hearty meal. Tomorrow it will be Arno’s turn to go help another farmer in exchange for a meal, or even a simple ‘thank you’, as not everyone is able to pay. But we’re a community, we help each other, and this is what I love about our life here.” She hugs Julie and rocks her gently.  _ And my daughter is safe _ .

Freddie nods pensively. “This is a better environment to raise your children, for sure. Not like dreary and cutthroat Paris. They say we are all citizens, free and equal, but the remnants of the old ways are still engraved in the people’s minds. And France is still tearing herself apart.”

“If Paris is so unsafe, why are you staying? Why don’t you go back to England?”

“And take Madeleine with me?” he scoffs with a snort. “I’d hate to separate her from her children. France is all she’s ever known, I can’t uproot her. Plus, I sold my property, don't you remember?”

“Do you love her?” she asks quietly.

“What is love?” he replies with a wistful smile. He'd known that question would come, and he'd dreaded it. If only he’d known the answer to the question he’s been trying to ask himself. “You know I’ve only ever loved one woman. And while Madeleine has stolen my heart…”

“Marry her!” she interrupts, flashing a large grin.

“Élise!” he scolds, looking around to see if Madeleine was within earshot. To his relief, she was busy serving wine to the guests, smiling to everyone as she fills their glasses, oblivious to the conversation happening in the sitting room.

Élise chuckles at his discomfiture. She could have sworn she saw a blush across his cheeks. “She makes you happy, doesn’t she? And it’s time you let her heal your broken heart.”

“We’re too old to get married…” he retorts, watching Madeleine from the corner of his eye.

“Love isn’t about age, Freddie!” she groans, rolling her eyes. She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Do me a favor and ask her to marry you. I know she will never replace my mother in your heart, but you deserve to marry the woman you love… before it’s too late. Again.”

“I don’t know...“ he sighs, looking away from her eyes, as if trying to find the right words to say.

“You know, you should run a small inn together. I’m sure she’d love that,” she chimes, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He bursts out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief at what he’s just heard. “Are you done playing matchmaker and planning our life?”

“Stop acting like a confirmed bachelor,” she chides, her expression becoming serious with a faint smile on her lips. “You don’t need it, but you nonetheless have my permission to marry her. And the sooner the better. Oh!” Suddenly, she breaks in a bright smile, her eyes widening. “I have an idea! You could get married this summer, before you go back to Paris! It's safer for you to get married here, I'm sure we can easily circumvent the publishing of the bans. I know a few people working at the city hall…”

“Élise, stop!”

“You’re blushing! Admit it, you  _ want  _ to marry her!”

“And you should probably go back upstairs; the silliest of ideas are running through your mind at the moment!”

“The nerve!” she scoffs indignantly. “I can’t believe you’re actually sending me to my room like a child! But you’re right, I can hear the boys fussing, they need to be fed, changed, and rocked to sleep! And this little girl here should go to bed, right Bunny?”

Rubbing her eyes and yawning, Julie shakes her head. She wanted to stay curled up in her mother's arms, and the idea of going to bed, alone in her room, wasn’t appealing to her at all.

“Arno?” Élise calls, before hugging and rocking Julie some more, knowing she only has a few minutes left with her daughter before bedtime.

“Are you alright?” he asks worriedly as he enters the sitting room, gently rubbing the backs of the two fussing and whimpering infants he holds against his chest.

“Yes, I’m fine, but it’s time to bring the babies back upstairs. They are starting to get tired, and they are probably hungry. And it’s bedtime for Julie, too.”

“I can’t disagree with you. Upstairs, everyone!”

She carefully gets on her feet, balancing a drowsy Julie in her arms. “Goodnight, Freddie! And do give my suggestion a thought,” she adds with a wink and a smirk.

“I will. I promise,” he says, a knowing smile on his lips.

“What was that all about?” Arno whispers, as they reach the staircase. “What are you scheming and plotting again?”

She chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough!”

* * *

**June 21, 1796**

> _ Papa, _
> 
> _ The birth of your grandsons has challenged my faith and shaken my confidence. When Élise announced she was pregnant, by fear of seeing our family being torn apart by the never-ending war between Templars and Assassins, she asked me to get in touch with the Brotherhood and plead for peace. _
> 
> _ I want nothing but peace, father. We lost too many loved ones to this war, and if there is the slightest of chances for peace, we must act upon it and make it happen. _
> 
> _ On the other hand, I also want to be a father for my children. I am terrified at the thought of leaving them behind. _
> 
> _ I cannot blame you for joining the Assassins; I cannot blame you for leaving me behind with Monsieur de la Serre. _
> 
> _ Yet, as I’m holding my sons in my arms, I’m struggling to explain to them who you were. Your voice and your actions only distant memories, fading away. _
> 
> _ I am coming to the painful realization I never had the chance to get to know you. _
> 
> _ And I can’t bring myself to run the risk of having my children go through the same pain. _
> 
> _ Father, I will never blame you for the choices you made. And I suppose my children, and Élise, will never blame me for the choices I will make in my life, as they will be made with one thing in mind: keeping my family united, safe, and happy. _
> 
> _ No doubt you’d fall in love with the twins if you'd meet them. These two are strong little fighters, I'm so proud of them. Julie is growing up so fast, our tiny Mademoiselle clearly has inherited her mother's feistiness. _
> 
> _ I love them with all my heart, words can't even describe what I feel when I look at my children. I can’t leave them behind. I simply can’t. _
> 
> _ I love you, and I miss you dearly. _
> 
> _ Your Arno _

Julie’s cries tear through the quiet night. With a frustrated groan, Arno rolls to his back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Between the twins needing to be fed, changed or comforted, and Julie demanding their attention, he was quickly losing sleep – and patience.

“You should bring her here. She can sleep with us tonight, she’s probably scared and lonely,” Élise says, propping herself up to check if François and Charles were still asleep despite their sister’s howling sobs.

“No! No, no, no, no, she has to learn to sleep in her own bed, in her own room,” he argues. “It’s our role as parents to teach her she can’t always get what she wants! She needs us to guide her, to give her boundaries…”

“Spoken like a true Templar!” she snears.

He glares at her in annoyance. “I’m trying very hard not to be insulted!”

“Oh but it’s true!” she chuckles. “You want to give her boundaries, you decided it was best for her to sleep in her own bed, and she must listen to you. That’s very…Templar of you.”

“And you’re all about giving in, and taking her in our bed. On other words, you want to raise a spoiled child,” he retorts sharply.

She purses her lips, his words having hit a nerve. “I know how it feels to be alone in a cold, strange bed, craving comforting arms around me. My daughter will never go through the same ordeal, I can assure you,”  she hisses.

They stare at each other for moment, and she softens as she senses his distress, the reason for it eluding her. “I’m not saying we have to give in to everything, all the time, but can’t we make an exception tonight? And why are you so harsh all of a sudden, what has gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” he groans, kicking the sheets aside. “I’ll go get her, if you insist!”

* * *

The same raw fear, pain, and sorrow he felt in December 1776 are ripping through him, as powerful as the images in his nightmare. With a strangled scream dying in his throat, he wakes up, his heart racing. As he tries to chase away the images in his mind, he lays his eyes upon Julie curled up between them. With a faint smile, he reaches to stroke her hair and gently caress her chubby cheek with the back of his fingers, before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Comforted by her parents’ proximity, she had been sleeping peacefully within minutes of settling in their bed. And now, it was the mere sight of his tranquil daughter next to him that was bringing him the comfort he needed.  _ I know I’m doing the right thing _ , he thinks to himself while pressing his lips once again on Julie’s forehead.

Carefully, he sits up and slides his arms beneath her to lift her, and carries his sleeping daughter back to her own bed.

“What’s going on, my love? Talk to me…” Élise murmurs as he slips back into bed, thinking she was asleep.

“Nothing. A simple nightmare,“ he dismisses in a low voice. “Go back to sleep!” he orders as he pulls the sheets over him and rolls to his side, turning his back to her.

“A nightmare is never  _ ‘simple’ _ . You were dreaming about your father, I heard you call him in your sleep.”

He rolls halfway onto his back. “And what if I was? There's nothing to talk about…” he retorts before rolling back to his side, gripping the sheets and pulling them tightly under his chin.

She moves closer to him, pressing her forehead to his back and placing her hand on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. “Arno, you haven't been yourself since the twins are born. You’ve been adorable and caring as always, but you’ve also been drinking, you’ve been brooding, I can see in your eyes something isn’t right, and I wish you would open up to me.”

“I don't think you want to hear what I have to say…” he says with a quaver in his voice, after a long and heavy silence.

She can feel the tension in the muscles of his back and his shoulder, and she wonders what is bothering him. “Try me,” she insists, squeezing his shoulder gently.

He rolls to the other side to face her, his eyes searching her green gaze in the darkness. “I can't… I can't do it…” he finally admits.

She reaches to rest her hand on his cheek. “You can't do what?” she asks, frowning.

“Join the Brotherhood again, and do what you asked of me. I can't do it, I can't leave you and the children, I can't risk getting killed during a futile mission. I want to see my children grow up, I want to be their father, I want to be in their lives…” He turns his head away from her touch, shaking his head from side to side pitifully. “I know you're disappointed. I know you think I am a coward for refusing to fight.”

“I haven't said a single thing, you are putting words in my mouth!” she retorts.

There’s a tight knot in her stomach as his words resonate:  _ I can’t do it.  _  Her mind is racing, thinking of other solutions, or ways to convince him to change his mind. Yet, knows she must respect his choice. After all, hadn’t she asked of him to respect her choice, should the final battle with Germain result in her death? While she had chosen death, he has now chosen for life.

She cradles his face in her hands, and looks into his sorrowful eyes. “Yes, I'm a little disappointed, I had high hopes you'd follow through with my plan. But I do not think you are a coward, my love. I told you from the beginning I wanted it to be your choice, your decision. You made your choice – you chose for your family. It's a courageous choice. I can never blame you for loving your children,” she adds with a reassuring smile, before sliding her hands around his neck and pulling his head to her chest. He remains tense for a second, then relaxes, sinking into the comfort of her arms.

“My vision still tells me you will reconnect with the Assassins, and the boys will follow you,” she continues softly yet thoughtfully, caressing his hair. “And somehow, one will turn against you, against us. I wish I knew why, or how… to prevent it from happening...”

“I don’t see why I’d contact them. The Brotherhood represented the family I was longing for, it was my last link to my father, and I needed them in order to help you. Meanwhile, they made it very clear I wasn’t welcomed anymore!”

“Maybe you’ll want to learn more about your father? Now that you have the name of his murderer…”

At once, he pulls away from her embrace, sitting squarely in bed, images from his nightmare flooding his mind at the mention of his father. “No, I won’t investigate my father’s death,” he says dryly.

She nods, acknowledging his words, but she wasn’t swayed the slightest. “Alright. But if the past catches up with us, and it would be our only way of surviving, would you do it? Would you join the Assassins again?”

He sighs deeply, then nods. “If it’s the only way to keep my family safe, I wouldn’t hesitate, and you know it. My children’s safety and your safety come first, and I would give my life to save my family. But I choose to stay with you and the children. For now.”

She comes to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and takes his hand in hers.

“I was ready to do it, I had made my decision, but the moment the boys were born…So small, so fragile… I’m so sorry for letting you down…” he murmurs, resting his head against hers.

Élise’s intertwined fingers tighten among his as she forces a smile.  _ Am I going to be the one to make the sacrifice? _ “You’re not letting anyone down, my love,” she says softly. “We'll find another way. Together. As we always do.”

* * *

**June 24, 1796**

Sitting by the open window to feel the warm summer breeze on her face, Élise watches over the sleeping twins in the bassinet. She longed for the outside world, the fresh air, the warmth of the sun, the colorful nature in bloom, the bustling of the village. Today in particular, as it’s Midsummer, and she is disheartened to not be allowed to take part in the celebrations. It is already late afternoon, the sun is still high in the sky.  _ Another day wasted between these four walls _ , she thinks to herself with a deep sigh.

“Madame Élise?” Madeleine calls as she enters the room, her lips twisting as if she's repressing a smile. She has good news for Élise, and she cannot wait to share them with her.

“Shhhh! The boys are sleeping…” Élise says, tapping a finger on her lips.

“If I help you get dressed and do your hair, would you like to come and sit in the garden for a little while?”

“I want nothing else than to leave this room, but I’m afraid I can’t…” Élise replies, a mopey look on her face.

Madeleine sits at the edge of the bed, and reaches to touch Élise’s arm, breaking into a large grin. “Monsieur Arno spoke with Clara earlier today when in town; she said if you feel strong enough, and if you make sure the babies are kept warm, you can all go outside. It’s so lovely today, not a single cloud! Some fresh air would do everyone a lot of good!”

Élise’s expression changes to one of hopeful surprise. “Did she really say this? In that case… Yes, please, get me out of here!”

Half an hour later, wearing a loose cotton dress and a large straw hat on her braided hair, Élise approaches the garden, Madeleine following her carrying refreshments. The twins are swaddled and wrapped in warm blankets, and Élise is carrying them in a basket in which they can barely fit.  _ You’ve grown so much, we’ll have to separate you sooner or later _ , she thinks to herself as tickles their cheeks.

She puts the basket down in front of her, kicks off her shoes, and with a long, satisfied sigh, she sits on a chair, breathing in the scent of roses and lavender carried by the wind, and letting her bare feet feel the cool grass underneath them. Looking around the garden, she notices a blanket laid on the grass, and extra chairs scattered around, but she ignores them with a shrug. Not far away, Julie is picking daisies and dandelions, and handing them to Marianne to make a flower crown.

With a smile, Élise sits back in her chair and closes her eyes, determined to soak in as many sun rays as possible. It had been weeks since she had stepped outside the house, and she couldn’t be happier to have reclaimed her freedom.

Warmed by the sun, lulled by Julie’s laughter, the chirpy chatter of Madeleine and Marianne, and the grunts and gurgles and coos of the twins, she is almost asleep when she hears voices approaching, voices of adults and children she can’t immediately identify.

She opens her eyes and looks in the direction of the voices, and to her surprise, she recognizes the Lacoste family, their children, and their children’s children. Even Clara is of the party, enjoying a short respite between two house visits. The women are carrying baskets with food and drinks, while their children are running around, chasing each other.

While Élise proudly introduces the twins to whoever hadn’t had the chance to meet them yet, she catches a glimpse of Arno and Freddie out the corner of her eye, as they come back from a quick training session. Brioche is cheerfully following her master.

“Arno, what is all this?” she asks as he embraces her in a hug.

“I figured if you can’t go to the fair, maybe I can try to bring the fair to you?” he replies with the brightest of smiles, and looking quite satisfied with himself.

Her mouth hangs open in surprise. “And you invited everyone for an impromptu garden party?”

“Anything to see you smile! Plus, if I want you to get covered in adorable freckles again, I must lure you outside in the sun...” He presses his lips on hers for a long kiss. “You look beautiful in that dress!” he murmurs in her ear.

“I look pregnant and fat in that dress!” she retorts with a snort.

“You look beautiful!” he scolds, a fake expression of anger on his face.

She chuckles. “Let’s just not light up a bonfire. With all that dry hay lying around…”

“Better not, indeed!”

After Arno greets and cuddles Julie and the twins, the feast and the humble festivities can finally begin. They are later joined by a handful of musicians, who agreed to enliven the evening as a heartfelt thank you for Arno’s help earlier that week.

“Shall we dance?” Arno asks as he gets off his chair and extends his hand to her.

She hesitates. “Those hips of mine are still painful when I walk or stand for too long...”

“I’ll hold you tightly in my arms, and we’ll dance really slowly, I promise!” he assures with a warm smile.

She returns his smile and nods. The offer was too good to pass. “Yes, I’d love to dance!”

He helps her to her feet and leads her to the middle of the garden, where children and adults were dancing in a round. In the warm light of the setting sun, he wraps his arms around her back to support her, and staring deeply into each other eyes, they slowly begin to move, step by step. She revels in the softness of the grass under her feet, and in the warmness of his embrace, feeling an immense peace in her heart – an overwhelming calm, happiness, and contentedness. And love. As if reading her mind, he leans in slowly and kisses her, tender and soft, and she kisses him back.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as their lips part.

“You’re welcome,” he replies before kissing the tip of her nose.

From his chair a little away from the makeshift dance floor, Weatherall watches Madeleine flutter about, serving a drink here and a bite of food there, offering sweet treats to the children, and cleaning the tables. As she walks past him with dirty glasses in each hand, he stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Maddie love, why don’t you sit down for a little bit? You're a guest here, not an employee!” he chides, his tone amused.

She shakes her head, chuckling. “You know nothing makes me happier than seeing everyone around me well fed, refreshed, and entertained!”

“I know, and I… I want nothing else than seeing you happy. But I'd like you to sit down with me. Just for a little while.”

She notices a change in his expression, or at least she thinks, by the way he was now looking at her. “Alright, if you insist,” she says, a little frown of concern on her round face.

She sits on the empty chair next to him, putting the dirty glasses down on the grass by her feet. “They're perfect for each other, don't you think?” she comments, glancing at Arno and Élise holding one another, stealing a kiss here and there, as they are trying to dance. “And their children are most adorable…”

“Maddie, there's something I've been meaning to tell you… to ask you…” he interrupts, taking her hand.

Taken aback by his gesture and the sudden seriousness in his tone, her concern grows. “What is it?”

Looking directly and deeply into her hazel eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, he finally opens his heart. “I don't have anything to offer you, other than the company of a grouchy, cynical, and crippled old man. I don't have a fortune, in fact I've put every single coin I had in our new house in Paris, with Hélène and Jacques.”

She gives him a kind smile to reassure him, for his nervous demeanor suggested opening up to her was causing him a great distress. “Don't say such things! You know very well money doesn't bring happiness!”

“Would becoming my wife bring you happiness?” he blurts, before he could stop himself. “I don't even have a ring…”

Her mouth gapes open. She couldn’t believe her ears.  Since her husband’s death decades ago, she had never hoped to find another man to care for, to love. When this Englishman stepped foot at the Café-Théâtre, she was intrigued. A well-travelled man, with countless stories to tell about the places he’s visited, and the important people he met. A distinguished man who was warm and kind to her, and who didn’t seem to pay attention to the clothes she wore, to her language, or to her social standing. Everything separated them. “But don’t they say opposites attract?”, he once asked her to appease her worries.

“Freddie, you can't be serious? No, actually, you better be serious. In fact, if you are not serious, let me tell you…”

“I am very serious,” he says, the look of relief on his face evident. “After Élise’s mother passed away, I swore I would never love anyone else. Then one fine day, this boy Arno shows up on my doorstep to drag me back to France, because he and Élise were getting married. And that’s when I met you. Jolly, full of life. Gosh, I never thought I’d say these words after so long, and please don’t ask me to drop on my good knee, I’m not even sure I’d be able to get up again…” He takes a deep breath to regain his composure. “Madeleine Lacroix, would you marry me?”

Her free hand flies to cover her mouth in utter, blissful shock. “Yes! Yes, yes, I will marry you!” she says, tears of joy running down her cheeks.

The world ceased to exist around them as they seal their promise with a kiss, overcoming their reluctance to any sort of public display of affection.

From the corner of her eye, Élise witnesses the kiss, and there is no doubt in her mind: the question had been asked, and the answer was a  _ yes _ . She breaks into the largest of smiles, choking back her tears as she is overcome with emotion.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Arno asks, then reaches out and tips her chin up until she meets his gaze. “You look happy, which is a relief, but why the tears?”

“I believe we'll be celebrating a wedding this summer!” she says with a sob. “Gosh, why am I so emotional?”

He looks around them, but he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “Who?”

She discretely points at Freddie and Madeleine sitting side by side, holding hands, caught in a lively discussion.

Arno smiles, genuinely happy for the older couple. “Is this what you were plotting the other day?”

“Possibly!” she replies, smiling cheekily and biting her tongue.

“Papa, papa, papa!” Julie interrupts, taking hold of her father’s leg.

“Well, hello there, Mademoiselle! Do you want to dance with us, Sweet Pea?”

“Papa, ‘u’le!” the little girl says, letting go of her father’s leg to hold her arms up.

“You want to cuddle? Come here, then!” He bends down and slips one arm around her back to lift her. With one arm around Élise’s back, and holding his daughter with the other, he was a contented man. “Just like last year!” he says before planting a noisy kiss on his daughter’s cheek, his prickly beard making her giggle.

“Only, she's not a baby anymore, and she has two baby brothers! They should have been born these days, our boys,” Élise notes with a wistful sigh. While the progress the boys made since birth has been consistent and encouraging, she can’t help feeling an intense guilt for not carrying them to term. There hasn’t been a day she hasn’t wondered what she could have done to prevent her babies from being born too soon, there hasn’t been a day she hasn’t blamed herself.  _ Forgiveness, Élise _ , she reminds herself constantly.

“Remember how small they were? They look like normal newborn babies now. And François caught up with Charles, I can’t tell them apart by size anymore!”

“Am I going to have to tie ribbons of different colors around their ankles for you to learn who is who?” she teases with a chuckle. “Charles has a tiny little mole on his right shoulder. And François has one eye that is slightly greener than brown...”

“You spend more time with them than me, of course you’ll notice those things!” he snorts, rolling his eyes.

She stands on her toes to catch a glance of the basket where the twins were sleeping. “Our little fighters are fast asleep, and from what I can see, François is holding Charles’ hand and sucking on his brother's thumb!”

“Another little thumb sucker like our Mademoiselle here!” Arno says, grasping Julie’s little hand.

“It runs in the family, I suppose. Weren’t you sucking your thumb when you were a child? I remember catching you a few times not long after you moved in with us. I thought you were such a baby! I bet they got it from you!” she sneers with a smug grin on her face.

“I honestly don't remember!” he chuckles, shaking his head.

Her laughter fades into a wince. Without Arno’s strong body to lean against, and both his arms to hold her, pain had started to kick in after long minutes of standing and dancing. “I'm getting a bit tired…” she whines, frustrated that her evening of celebration was spoiled by pain.

Supporting her as best he can, he helps her walk back to the back of the garden where Weatherall and Madeleine are sitting, their hands still joined.

“Did I hear wedding bells ringing?” Élise says, forcing a smile through her pain.

“You heard?” the old man smirked, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“More like... we saw!” Élise teases, winking at Weatherall.

“Congratulations to both of you!” Arno says wholeheartedly, shaking both Madeleine and Freddie’s hands.

“I’m so happy for you!” Élise says, bending over to throw her arms around Weatherall’s neck for a hug.

He laughs at her sudden outburst of affection and hugs her back. “Thank you, my child. I owe it all to you, I suppose.”

He wasn’t used to such affectionate gestures from her; she always kept a distance between them, out of respect and consideration. But ever since he arrived at the farm the month before, he witnessed how she had shed the imaginary barriers she had erected for her own protection, and how she was finally allowing herself to give – and receive – affection and love, and how she wasn’t afraid anymore to show vulnerability.  _ Becoming a mother has done you good _ , he often mumbled to himself.

“When do you want to get married?” Arno asks Madeleine as he sits next to her, cradling Julie into his lap. Snuggled into her father’s warmth, she was looking at the adults around her with drooping eyelids.

“Oh, we haven’t talked about that yet! We should at least wait until Madame Élise is back on her feet!” the former maid suggests.

“Well, the sooner the better,” Élise concludes with a nod, before sitting down on an empty chair next to Freddie, where she has a good view on her sleeping babies huddled in their wicker basket.

She reaches and grasps her advisor’s hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Mother would be happy for you,” she says softly.

He turns to meet her gaze, the same green eyes of the woman he once loved with all his heart, and with a smile, he replies: “I know she would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the first moment I made Weatherall and Madeleine meet, I knew I'd end up marrying them. But I needed some time to develop the characters and their relationship. So relieved to finally be able to heal their broken hearts :)


	23. The Catch

**July 11, 1796**

It was a quiet afternoon at the City Hall, to Weatherall's relief. It was aggravating enough that he had to arrange the paperwork in a strange city for a marriage he certainly hadn’t expected, but offering himself to a crowd of onlookers would have had him turning his heel and hobble back to the farm without a second of hesitation.

From behind his desk, Fabian’s son, Thibaud, greets Arno with a discrete wave of his hand. It was only a month ago that Arno found himself at the same place, as he came to register the twins’ birth.

“Good day Arno, you’re here again! What can I do for you, this time?” Thibaud says with large grin, eyeing at Weatherall, who was nervously looking around him.

“My good friend here would like to arrange for a marriage license”, Arno replies in a half-voice, placing a hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “We want to avoid publication of the banns, if possible. I am aware there is a fee…”

Freddie nods in agreement staring directly at Thibaud, grateful for Arno’s discretion.

“Yes, indeed, there is a fee,” the young man confirms, in a tone similar to Arno’s. “However, it can be arranged. Why all the secrecy, if I may ask?”

“You may not ask, I’m afraid,” Freddie retorts, with a simpering smile.

Thibaud nods with a nervous chuckle. “All right, I shall not. Please follow me to my father’s office; it’ll be more… private. He is currently in a council meeting.”

Arno and Freddie exchange nods, and the older man follows the municipality employee to an office down a long corridor, while Arno retreats to the left side of the main hall, leaning his back against a large pillar. Weatherall didn’t need his assistance for the license paperwork, but his instinct was telling him to keep an open eye. Just in case.

Meanwhile, in Fabian’s office, Freddie is bombarded with the usual routine questions.

“Religion?” Thibaud asks, his eyes glued to his notebook, quill held above the paper.

“This is a rather complicated matter,” Freddie sighs. _What are we Templars, besides our own religious Order?_ he thinks to himself. _And being English…_ “Catholic, both of us,” he blurts, wishing no proof of the matter would need to be produced. He was certain of Madeleine’s religious affiliation, but he wasn’t going to reveal to his interlocutor his own affiliation, for his safety, and Élise’s. _Some things are better left unsaid._

“And you are not related…?” Thibaud continues, now meeting Weatherall’s gaze.

“Absolutely not,” the older man replies with a smile.

Thibaud nods appreciatively as he goes over the answers he noted. “I have everything, and I see no objections to issuing the marriage license. As for the ceremony itself, we would have an opening on Friday, August 12, if this date is convenient for you and your future bride.”

“Yes, this date would do just fine. We are due to leave and go back to Paris a week after.”

“Then it’s settled,” Thibaud announces as he closes his notebook after making an annotation regarding the wedding date. “We are looking forward to receiving the signed contract by both parties and your witnesses, at the latest the day before the ceremony.”

“For sure, this will be taken care of,” Freddie assures. Bracing the arms of his chair with one hand and holding his crutches with the other, he rises on his good leg. “Before I leave… Can I ask you something?” he asks, turning his head towards the younger man.

“Of course Sir Weatherall!”

“Your father…”

“Fabian Lacoste is my father, yes,” Thibaud interrupts. “He is a member of the municipal council, and deputy mayor.”

Freddie nods and smiles hearing the pride in Fabian’s son voice. “I suppose your family has a long history in this area of France?”

“I was born here, and as far as I know, so were my father and my mother,” Thibaud confirms, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

“But your grand-mother, your father’s mother, she wasn’t from here, or so I have been told?” the older man insists with an inquisitive tone.

“I don’t really know who my grand-mother was; she passed away when I was little. But my father told me she was from Paris. And my mother also spent a few years of her life near Versailles, that much I know. If I may ask, why all these questions regarding my family? You might as well ask them yourself to my parents,” Thibaud retorts curtly as he rises from his chair and tucks his notebook under his arm. He was used to the other villagers commenting on the fact that his father was one of the most highly esteemed men in the region. But never had anyone asked about the legitimacy of his family’s roots, and certainly not an Englishman.

Realizing he went too far in pressing for answers, Weatherall sighs at his own gaffe. “Forgive me for asking all these questions, I am rather protective of Élise,” he says, his tone now as mild as his smile. “She’s been my protégée since she was a child, you see. I like to know who she befriends, who she deals with. I can’t help myself. That being said, I believe it’s high time I pay the neighbor’s, your parents, a visit. I can’t wait to have a chat with your father and get to know him better.”

Thibaud’s expression relaxes and his smile returns. “My mother is an excellent cook, and she loves to play hostess. I’m certain she’d be delighted to invite you over for dinner or a similar regale.”

“I shall have a word with your mother, my friend. Now, where can I pay the fee?”

“If you follow me back to the front desk, Sir Weatherall, we will take care of the payment immediately.”

* * *

**July 28, 1796**

The room was flooded with the high summer morning light. Resting his head on his hand, propped up by his elbow, Arno studies Élise’s face and body. Her breasts were fat and heavy with milk, and he was dying to touch the dark taut nipples under the thin fabric of her chemise, but he knew better, his touches having earned him a good number of slaps and hisses in a recent past. Instead he gently touches her cheek and watches her eyes flutter as she rouses.

“Good morning!” he says, pressing his lips tenderly on her forehead.

“Good morning!” she mumbles, wiping sleep from her eyes. Noticing the house was completely silent, save from the quiet sleeping noises François and Charles were making in their bassinets, she smiles. “A few minutes just for the two of us, this doesn’t happen often lately!” She moves closer to him, seeking the comfort of his arms.

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it!” he chuckles, carefully pulling her against him. There hadn’t been many opportunities for quiet, intimate moments since the birth of the twins. But whether or not the twins sleeping longer than usual was a fluke or a new habit, they were going to savor every second of it – especially today.

“Two years…” she murmurs, nuzzling his chest.

“... and _three_ children later… Sometimes I still can’t believe it. How our life has changed.”

Two years ago, they were bone-weary and mangled after a too long fight, and faced with an uncertain future. Two years later, their wounds had started to heal, and their family was taking root. With Élise in his arms, his sons sleeping next to them, and his daughter sleeping in the adjacent room, Arno smiles. _Yes, we made the right decision to come here_ , he thinks to himself.

“We should officially declare this day the Annual Dorian Family Day,” she says. “Each year, we celebrate me being alive, and us being a family. Together.

“I like that!” he says with a large grin, pulling away to meet her sleepy gaze. “Do you want to go down to the river like last year? We could go fishing! The old man who owned this farm before seemed to be quite a fisherman. I found several rods and baskets in a corner of the barn when we moved in.”

She chuckles at his enthusiasm. “You take Julie for a fishing expedition, I’m sure she’ll love to be alone with her papa and splash about in the water! Sadly, I’m not quite fit enough yet to follow you, and the boys are a bit too young,” she adds with a pout.

She had been able to partially resume work, leaving all farm-related tasks to Arno and Marianne, and caring for the children and the household with Madeleine’s help. Yet, on some days exhaustion was getting the best of her, and napping mornings and afternoons with the children was her only way to get through the day. Countless of times, she stubbornly dismissed Clara’s comments, urging her to hire a wet nurse to feed the twins, and grant herself some rest. They could afford it, this time around, but Élise cherished these bonding moments alone with her boys, staring into their big brown eyes, smiling and cooing and speaking to them softly. And if feeding her own children meant she’d have to eat several extra meals, or take an extra nap to recover, the toothless smiles she was receiving in return were more than worth the trouble. The house wasn’t as clean as it should be, the garden wasn’t as flourishing as the summer before, but everyone was well-fed and loved.

“It can’t be a family day if you don’t join us with the twins!” Arno says with the same pout on his face.

“We’ll join you later this evening for dinner and eat all the fish you both expertly caught!”

“You know I never really liked fish?” he comments, cocking his head to the side.

“That’s because you’ve never had fish prepared in MY kitchen!” she retorts, poking his chest with her finger.

“Élise, you’ve never prepared fish in your life!”

“I know, but I have Madeleine with me, I’m sure she’ll turn your fish into the best tasting fish dish you’ve ever had. Besides, you will have caught the fish yourself, it’s bound to add extra flavor!”

He smiles, brushing aside the wild red locks that were covering her forehead and cheeks. “Alright, I’ll take Julie for a father-daughter fishing day after the morning work on the farm. And you can prepare the best fish for all of us to feast on this evening.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll be lazy in the garden with my baby boys!” she says as she stretches her arms. “Madeleine and Freddie have been invited for a luncheon by our lovely neighbors. Freddie practically forced Marcera’s hand to squeeze an invitation out of her.”

“Really?” he says, surprised. “That’s rather... unusual.” Or was it? _The old Templar is still poking his nose in everyone’s business_.

“Freddie is determined to uncover whatever best kept secrets he believes the neighbors are hiding.”

Arno frowns. “What secrets?”

“I have no idea,” she shrugs. “Ever since he learned my mother and Marcera attended the Maison Royale at the same time, he’s been imagining the worst possible sce…” Her sentence ends in a groan and a chuckle as she is interrupted by their twin babies suddenly kicking and fussing in their bassinets.

“Mama! Feed me!” Arno teased with a grin from ear to ear.

She shakes her head. “No, you’re not listening properly, they are saying: Papa! Change me!” she teases back with a smirk.

“I bet they are saying both! I’ll pick them up in a second, but before that…” he says as he grazes his lips on hers before giving her one last kiss.

* * *

Mounted atop his mare, Julie held snug against his chest with a sturdy fabric sling wrapped around his back and over his shoulders, Arno was rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Do you have everything?” Élise asks for the umpteenth time, checking yet again the content of the saddle bags.

“Food, diapers, fishing rod and basket, and everything else you’ve put in the bags that I don’t know about. Élise, we’re not leaving for three days, we’ll be gone for merely three hours!” he teases.

“And dry clothes in case she falls into the water,” she corrects. “Watch her carefully, an accident can happen so quickly…”

“Don’t worry,” he assures. “Right Sweet Pea? You’ll listen to papa, won’t you?” he asks, looking down at the little redhead who nods and giggles. “Good girl!” he says, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“Here, she needs it, the sun is strong, she’ll burn,” she says, handing him a small cotton cap.

With a sigh, he slips the cap on Julie’s head, tying the ribbons loosely under her chin, not without facing the inevitable resistance from his daughter, who clearly disagreed with her mother regarding the necessity of wearing a cap to protect herself from the sun.

“And let me check the sling, maybe it’s not tight enough…” Élise insists, reaching up with her hands to test the knot.

“Élise, it’s tight enough,” he interrupts, gently taking her hands in his own, and pushing them away. “She won’t fall, believe me.”

“But if you fall off your horse, she falls with you!”

He gazes down into her eyes and smiles, silencing her with a reassuring look. “I won’t fall. Stop worrying.”

She bites her lip and chuckles. “Alright… I’m sorry, I’m not used to be separated from my baby girl!”

“She’s with me!” he groans, and then laughs.

“Yes, and you’ve never been alone with her this way. Are you sure you can manage? Our daughter can be a handful, let me tell you that!”

He shrugs. “How hard can this be? Hold on tight, Julie! We’re going fishing!”

As she watches him turn his mare around and tap her with his feet, she shakes her head and smirks. _Oh, you just wait, Arno, you’ll see!_ she thinks to herself.

* * *

It hadn’t been a simple task for Weatherall to wring out an invitation without arousing suspicion. Élise still recovering from childbirth, and Arno being kept busy by the work on the farm, gave him the pretexts he needed to request to be invited along with Madeleine. “I want to hear everything you have to say about Élise’s mother!” he fabricated, giving Marcera his widest grin.

The morning of the luncheon, Madeleine woke up with a migraine and excused herself from attending. Freddie was therefore the only guest at the Lacoste’s table, with Fabian and Marcera as his only hosts. Francis was spending his summer break from school working as an apprentice-carpenter, to his parents’ dissatisfaction. And Clara’s work as a midwife was keeping her away from home most of the time. _Absolutely perfect_ , Freddie thought.

Around a delicious roast of Sisteron lamb, the conversation was polite and jovial, yet it was clear that everyone was holding back, despite the wine flowing generously. _It will take more to loosen their tongues_ , Weatherall notes to himself.

“Élise was right in picking you as cooking teacher, this meal is delicious,” the old man comments, nodding and smiling appreciatively towards Marcera.

“Oh you’re flattering me, Sir,” she says with a nervous chuckle, feeling her cheeks blush slightly. “Élise was a quick learner, very eager. My daughter and I enjoyed taking her under our wing. The poor thing she was! Her clothes covered in blood, a baby on the way, her husband injured, herself bruised and battered, nowhere else to go. What else could we do? Would you like another slice of rye bread?”

“With pleasure!” he says, picking a thick slice of dark rye bread from the wooden plank Marcera was holding in front of him.

“I suppose my wife’s cooking skills were not the only reason why you are eating with us today, Sir,” Fabian observes, as matter-of-factly as he possibly can, while he stares at Freddie with a hint of distrust in his dark eyes. He wipes his mouth with his napkin in a deliberate manner before putting it down next to his plated neatly folded. “I do not mean to be rude or blunt in any way, but I’m puzzled. My son reported you were… inquiring, the other day when you met him for the marriage license.”

Freddie grins, and then nods. “Yes, I should probably cut to the chase,” he says, his grin fixed. “You have absolutely no idea who Élise really is?”

Fabian raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Besides her upbringing in Versailles and Paris, and her father’s business at the King’s court, I have to admit, we know nothing of her. But what does she have to do with me? Since your questions were about my own family, and my wife’s.”

Marcera nods at her husband’s words.

“I’m getting to it,” Freddie retorted. He folds his hands together and puts his elbows on the table, as he leans slightly forward. Putting his chin on his hands, he looks across the table at Fabian and Marcera. “As you might know, I discovered while chatting with your wife, that she knew Élise’s mother, Julie de Fleurian.”

“This is correct,” Marcera confirms, her gaze narrowing. “But I cannot say that I knew her very much. As I explained, I barely ever spoke to her.”

Weatherall would have loved to hear stories about his former lover as a teenager, but he would have to find another schoolmate to provide the information. Plus, he was getting married in two weeks. It was time to put the past behind. He dismisses Marcera’s comment with a wave of the hand. “It doesn’t matter. What intrigues me is the fact that you were sent far away to this school in particular. I know they accepted young girls from modest families as a compensation for their father’s services in the army, I suppose you were enrolled on these grounds?”

“Yes, my father was killed on the battlefield.”

“Right, right,” Freddie nods, before turning to Fabian. “And I was told by Élise that your own mother was from Paris?”

“Yes, she met my father while he was in Paris for business, and they fell in love. He brought her back here, they settled, and had a family. Surely you cannot blame my father for falling in love with a Parisian girl?” Fabian scoffs, his impatience growing as fast as his distrust.

“Of course not,” Freddie says with a smile he hoped would appear warm enough to lighten the mood. “What sort of business was your father conducting at the time?”

“I sincerely wouldn’t know, I’m sorry,” Fabian shrugs, sitting back on his chair with his hands crossed on his lap. “My father wasn’t the most talkative person. I only know he was working at the city hall in Gap before he passed away when I was just a small child.” A faint wistful smile appears on Fabian’s lips as memories of his father cross his mind.

“What did he die of?” Freddie insists with an inquisitive look on his face.

Recalling his father had Fabian changing his demeanor. “My mother never said anything. But my older brother liked to tell a story about how our father was killed while trying to stop a fight between two other men,” he said proudly.

“I see, I see,” Freddie nods. He pauses, gathering his thoughts. With a grim expression on his face, he looks at his hosts one by one squarely in the eye. “Well, here’s what’s bothering me about all this, and I will be very frank: I did a bit of research about your family, on my own and via one of my informants who I contacted a few weeks back. And I found more than a few links between your family, and Élise’s family.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir?” Fabian exclaims, a look of shock on his face.

“Your father was a Knight Templar, my friend. And I believe your mother was, too. Although I couldn’t quite verify the information, as I didn’t have her name.” Freddie looks again at his hosts, who had fallen utterly silent. “And by the rather unfazed look on both your faces, I deduct you knew about this.”

“Yes, I knew,” Fabian nods with a knowing smile, casting a side look at his wife. “But growing up, I chose to stay away from the Order. My children were not raised Templars, and they never will be. We actually… never said anything to them about our past.”

“Yet, interestingly, you are now working as deputy mayor, effectively ruling over this small town, and your sons could very well follow in your footsteps. That’s very… Templar of you,” Weatherall sneers, raising an eyebrow as he takes a large gulp of his glass of wine. “I can’t entirely confirm it, but your father was possibly murdered.”

Fabian sighs deeply. “I believe so, too.”

“And your wife... “ Weatherall turns his gaze to meet Marcera’s. “Were you also aware of your own father’s links to the Templar Order?”

She hesitates a moment, before admitting with a nod of the head: “I’ve heard about it. But this is not something you confess easily to strangers – no offense meant to you, Sir. My mother pulled me out of the Maison Royale, in an attempt to keep me away from the Order, before my aunt could take me under her wing to groom me. Was Julie de Fleurian, Élise’s mother, also a Templar?”

“Yes, she was,” Freddie answers grimly. “It’s interesting that you both chose, or at least that your mother chose for you in your case, Marcera, to stay away from the Order’s... claws.”

“Our families had suffered enough losses over the years, I suppose. And we refused to die for the Order,” Fabian says coldly.

“Who are you, Sir, if I may ask?” Marcera blurts with a note of impatience in her voice. “You seem to know quite a lot about us, things our own children aren’t even aware of, but we know nothing of you. And who is Élise? You still haven’t told us who she really is.”

The older man nods with a grin. _Touché._ “Fair enough, I owe you an explanation after putting you on the spot like that. Frederick Weatherall, member of the British rite of the Templar Order, and advisor of Élise de la Serre, daughter of François de la Serre, Grand Master of the Parisian rite until his death in 1789. Élise is the rightful contender to take his place as Grand Master, but…” He pauses and sighs, shaking his head. Even two years later, he still couldn’t believe it – couldn’t accept it. “But she got herself pregnant, and decided to get married and leave everything behind to come here and raise her children,” he continues bitterly. “Right before she fled to the South, she survived yet another attempt on her life, and on her daughter’s life, for that matter, from disgruntled opponents of her claim to the title, and old enemies of her father. And if my information is correct, your father was a close friend of Jacques de la Serre, Élise’s grandfather, who was also Grand Master of the Parisian rite before his son took his place upon his death.”

Fabian and Marcera exchange a look of utter surprise, mouths agape.

“I see. I had… no idea. I had absolutely no idea,” Fabian eventually manages to say with great effort. _Could this be the reason?_ Fabian wonders. From the first moment he met Élise, he felt a connection. An unspoken link, a common understanding he couldn’t quite place at the time. _All this time, she was right under my nose…_ “And Arno, who is he?” he suddenly asks, his forehead plowed in a thoughtful frown.

“Arno isn’t a Templar, if that’s what you’re asking. But I will not betray his identity, out of respect for the young man. He has his own family to protect, only him can decide when is the right time to reveal who he is, and to whom. Arno was raised by Élise’s father when his father passed away. That is all I’m going to say on this subject.”

Fabian and Marcera nod, processing the new information they received regarding their Parisian neighbors. Nothing in Arno or Élise’s behavior would have let them to believe they were hiding such a heavy past. Or perhaps… They knew about the training room with walls covered with swords, rifles, and other weapons they had never seen before in their lives. They knew Arno and Élise had mercilessly killed the road bandits who attacked them. They knew they loved sparring, they knew Arno was training regularly on his own, or with Élise, or nowadays with Weatherall. And most of all, they knew of Francis’ interest in Arno teaching him the art of sword fighting. _Well, at least we’re sure he has a good teacher in Arno_ , Fabian thinks to himself.

Weatherall leans forward, placing his palms on the table, his eyes serious. “Now the reason why I wanted to get this all in the open was to ask you a favor. Élise’s head is worth a lot. And so is Arno’s, and their children’s. I know a whole lot of people who want Élise dead. She’s safe for now, but we all know this won’t last. I need you to be my eyes and ears as I go back to Paris next month. Thanks to your position as deputy mayor, and your sons working at the City Hall, it shouldn’t be difficult to have access to a lot of information about… movements in the area. If suspicious behavior was detected, you’d be one of the first to be notified.”

“Yes, without a doubt,” Fabian says categorically. “And absolutely, I will make sure to report of any irregularities. I wouldn’t want anything happening to Élise, Arno, or their children.”

Weatherall believed in the man’s sincerity. “And I will send a warning if I hear of anything brooding in Paris. Now, I need another favor: please keep this conversation a secret. Do not share this with Élise, Arno, your sons, or your daughter. In turn, I will not share the information I hold about you and your families with Élise, or with anyone. Élise will be informed when the need arises. For the time being, I want her to carry on with her quiet life for as long as possible, blissfully ignorant of whom her neighbors really are. She and Arno deserve to live a happy life together and be a family. They’ve been through… a lot. One day, no doubt they will share the details with you. And while it still pains me to watch her waste her bright future as a leader of the Order, at the end of the day, her safety and her happiness are all what matter to me. And hopefully, one day, she’ll forgive me for plotting behind her back like that.”

Fabian and Marcera turn towards each other, and nod in agreement. Grateful as they are for having escaped life in the Order, they are prepared to do anything to protect their young friends next door.

“Understood,” Fabian agrees. “I will not tell her, or anyone else, about this conversation, and I will ensure her protection by all means available to me. You can count on me, Sir.”

“And I’ll keep a close watch on her, and the children,” Marcera adds solemnly.

Satisfied, Weatherall extends his hand over the table and shakes his hosts’ hands, apologizing silently to Élise for operating behind her back. _Please don’t hate me, Élise. I’m doing this for your safety_. “Now, how about some dessert?” he asks, with a large contented smile.

* * *

Meanwhile, Arno reached the small bay where they stopped for a picnic the year before. Along the way, Julie looked around her with wide-opened eyes, excitedly pointing at birds, trees, houses, and people, repeating the words and names her father was saying. Seeing the world through his daughter’s eyes brought a wide smile on Arno’s face.

“What do you think Julie, is this a good spot for fishing?” he asks as he gently pulled on the reins of his horse to stop her. The little girl nodded. “Oh really, it is? Let’s stop here, then!” After testing the knot of the sling to ensure it was tight enough, he swiftly dismounted his horse.

With both feet on the ground, Arno reaches to untie the bags hanging from the saddle.

“Down, papa!” Julie says, impatiently kicking him in the sides, and squirming to free herself from the sling around her body.

“Patience, Julie, I’ll put you down in a second!” he says with a laugh, shaking his head. _Definitely you mother’s temper_ , he thinks to himself.

“Down! Down!” she insists, her impatience turning into downright frustration.

“If I put you down, do you promise to stay next to me?” he asks, tilting his head to look at his daughter’s scrunched face and pouty lips. Julie nods, looking at her father with her long-lashed puppy eyes. _And you got those puppy eyes from me, that’s for sure!_ he thinks with a chuckle.

Holding her firmly with one hand, he loosens and then unwraps the sling with the other, letting the long strips of fabric fall along his body. Finally free, Julie squeals in delight as he puts her down with precaution on the ground. “Now stay with papa, don’t wander off,” he orders, holding his finger in front of her nose.

Shifting his attention back to unloading the bags and the fishing rod, he doesn’t notice Julie trotting towards the water, taking advantage of the situation to escape from her father’s surveillance.

“Julie?” he asks, looking frantically around him, finally noticing her absence. “JULIE!” he shouts as from the corner of his eye he watches her fall on hands and knees on the slippery wet pebbles, right at the edge of the water. Dropping bags and rod on the ground, he rushes towards his wailing daughter and scoops her up on her feet and into his arms.

“Not even two minutes in, and you’re already wet, and you scraped your knee,” he scolds, examining the red surface wound on her knee. _This won’t even leave a scar_. He carries her, sobbing and sniffling, to the large flat rocks in the shade, where he takes off her wet shirt and dress and leaves them to dry, and scans her arms and legs for more bruises or wounds. _Nothing. Good. Élise would never forgive me._ “And what have we learned? Stay next to papa!” he chides with a smile, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Now sit still on that rock, Sweet Pea. Do you understand me?” he asks firmly, looking into her eyes.

Thumb in mouth, she nods and sniffles and hiccups, upset by her father’s loud voice.

Her contrite freckled face melting his heart, he pulls her close for a hug and kisses the top of her head. “It’s all right, Sweet Pea. Papa is not mad, only afraid. You could have hurt yourself very bad, you know!”

Satisfied she had learned her lesson and she would sit still, he leaves her on the rock while he picks up the saddle bags and fishing rod, not without casting several looks in her direction. And each time, he would find her sitting on the rock with her arms crossed, her tiny legs restlessly bouncing up and down, and her little brow furrowed as her eyes follow every movement her father makes, from leading the horse to the water for a well-deserved refreshment, to searching in the bags for her dry clothes.

With a clean and dry shirt on, a kiss on her scraped knee, and reassurance from her father that he wasn’t angry at her, Julie gradually gained back her smile.

After taking his boots off and rolling his trousers up to his knees, he takes her hand to help her hop off the rock, and side by side, they walk towards a fallen tree half immersed into the water. “See this tree? It probably fell during a storm,” he explains as he picks her up and sits her down on the trunk.

He sits next to her, with his feet dangling in the shallow water of the Buëch. Then, he looks at her daughter and smiles. “Now let’s catch some fish!”

Arno spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Julie how to fish, his daughter laughing and clapping her hands each time he would drop another wiggling trout in the basket. He even let her play in the water for a little while under close watch, where she jumped and splashed about with high-pitched giggles. In the quieter moments, he would sit her on his lap and tell her all sorts of stories of fishing and hunting expeditions with his own father or Élise’s father, promising her he’d take her and her brothers hunting too when they are older. The little girl was listening attentively, while keeping her eyes fixed on the line in the water.

“Fis’!” she would warned her father the second she noticed a change in the tension of the line, even before Arno would notice it himself.

“Good job, Julie!” he said on each occasion, smiling and raising an eyebrow in amazement. _She’s surely… observant_ , he noted, wondering if her sharp sense of observation meant she had inherited from his own skills. _Time will tell_.

After more than two hours fishing and playing, it was time to head back to the farm, with a basket full of fat trouts. Worn down by the day’s excitement, Julie fell asleep, rocked by the horse’s fluid gait.

“How did it go?” Élise calls as she meets Arno in the yard, her mouth twisted in a smirk.

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?” he retorts with a simpering smile. He hated to admit it, but Julie had indeed proven to be quite a handful, and his respect for Élise in grew bigger and stronger than ever before. _How you can handle her all day, every day, is beyond me. And I don’t even want to imagine how wild the boys will be!_ At the same time, this little girl full of life is filling his heart with wonder. And pride. Pride in knowing his daughter is growing up to become a bright and intrepid girl, and that maybe – just maybe – she will be as skilled as her father.

“Alive, and sleeping!” Élise chuckles.

“Fresh air, and skipping her nap… Yes, she fell asleep as we were riding back.” With precaution, he unmounts his mare, trying not to wake his sleeping daughter. And with the same precaution, he unties and unwraps the sling, and Élise takes Julie into her arms.

“Arno! She hurt her knee!” she says in an exaggerated whisper, her eyes squinted and her lips pursed in annoyance. “You let her get hurt! Didn’t you watch her?”

“It’s just a scratch!” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “May I remind you _your_ knees were never without a scratch or a scrape when you were a child? She’s your daughter after all!” he adds with a shrug.

Insulted, she puffs her cheeks and blows out a breath. “Did you catch any fish, at least?”

“Yes, I have,” he says proudly as he retrieves the basket filled basket and hands it to her.

She peers inside the basket, and gives a very satisfied nod. He had indeed caught more than enough fish to feed them all this evening.

“I’ll go stable this horse, and I’ll get right on with the milking,” he continues. “I’ll see you and the children later.”

“And I’ll put this one to bed for an hour,” she says, smiling at the slumbering little girl in her arms. “Otherwise she’ll be too grumpy at dinner.”

“What’s that on your head, by the way?” he asks with a shy smile, pointing at her head.

“What do you mean? Oh, you mean the cap? After I made one for Julie, I decided to make one for myself,” she replies, returning his smile, with a light blush on her cheeks.

“It makes you look… adorable!” he adds, taking a few steps backwards while giving her an adoring look.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, I’m not quite sure?!” she snorts as he turns his heels to lead the horse back to the stables, answering her question with a shrug.

Shaking her head, she steps towards the front door of the house, keen on putting Julie down for her nap, and preparing the fish for the evening’s meal. At the same moment, Freddie appeared from around the corner of the house, his face reddened from the effort of walking uphill on his crutches all the way back from the neighbor’s house.

“Freddie! You’re back!” she says, her brow furrowed in concern, suddenly realizing her old advisor’s physical condition wasn’t what it used to be. _I’ve been confined to bed for far too long, I didn’t even notice_.

“Yes, lovely people, these neighbors of yours,” he pants, as he reaches the steps. “Marcera is indeed a fantastic cook. You really pulled the best cards out of the deck when you landed here.”

“Glad to hear that,” she says, opening the door and stepping aside to let him inside the house. “And? Have you uncovered any juicy secrets?”

“None, I’m afraid,” he says, keeping his expression as unperturbed as possible. He inhales and exhales deeply several times to get his breathing under control. “They are good people, Élise,” he continues, smiling at her. “You’re really lucky to have them in your life.” He hobbles towards their room, then stops and turns around, a look of worry on his face. “Is Madeleine still in bed? She had quite a migraine this morning.”

“Yes, last time I checked on her, she was still sleeping, but that was hours ago,” Élise says as she puts the basket of fish on the counter, and then shifts Julie in her arms. _You’re getting heavy, my Baby Bunny!_ “I hope she’s not suffering from pre-wedding jitters! I need her well enough to help me prepare the fish later. I’ve never done that before.”

“I’ll let her rest then,” he sighs. “I’ll be in the garden if you want to… talk.”

“I’ll go put this little girl down for a much needed nap, and I’ll join you in the garden with the boys as soon as I’m done feeding them. I want to hear everything about your luncheon!” she adds with a wink and a knowing smile.

He smiles in return, an uneasy smile he hoped she hadn’t noticed. _There is so much I want to tell you, but there is so much I must keep a secret. Élise, please forgive me_ , he prays silently as he watches her climb the stairs to the bedrooms, leaving him with a heavy heart.

* * *

To Élise’s – and Weatherall’s – relief, Madeleine woke up an hour later fully recovered from her migraine, and eager to show Élise how to scale, gut, and cut a fish, and explain which spices and herbs would give the fish the best flavor. Élise listened, taking mental notes as she watched Madeleine expertly slice the fish’s belly open to gut it in one smooth move of the wrist. It took Élise a bit of practice, but she eventually got the hang of it, receiving a well-merited applause from Madeleine, and an appreciative nod from Arno, who was watching his wife at work while bouncing and rocking the twins in his arms.

“And? How is _your_ fish, my love?” Élise asks later, noticing Arno was eating his fish with appetite – and so was everyone else gathered around the table. Herself included.

“I have to say, this is quite good,” he replies with a large grin before taking another large bite of the grilled fish.

Élise chuckles. “Now that I know Madeleine’s secret recipe, and after she taught me all her tips and tricks, I can make it again! Even Julie likes the fish, right Julie Bunny? I’m glad we finally found something you like, my little picky eater!” she says, smiling and lightly pinching her daughter’s cheek. In her high chair, Julie nods, then takes another piece of soft flaky fish between her fingers and brings it to her mouth.

“I can take Julie fishing again,” Arno offers, already looking forward to spending more time alone with his daughter and further test her skills. “And bring the boys too when they are old enough. This family day was a good idea, my love,” he adds with a heartfelt smile.

“ _Family day_?” Weatherall scoffs. He takes his wine glass in his hand and looking at Élise, he raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes, today we defeated Germain two years ago, don’t you remember?” she retorts, looking straight back at him in the eye. “And… well… I also got pregnant, two years ago,” she adds, stammering on her words. “Since today marks the day we became a family, I thought we could spend this day as a family, from now on. Arno took Julie fishing, and while I couldn’t join them with the boys this year, at least we’re having a lovely meal together as a family, don’t we?”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Madeleine exclaims, clasping her hands together. “Family is important. Friends are important. Being together should be celebrated. There is enough pain and suffering in this world, family is often all we have left…”

“So that’s where you were the night before the biggest fight of your life…” Weatherall sneers before taking a large gulp of wine.

“I suppose that’s where I was, yes,” Élise replies sharply, locking eyes with her old friend. _Here we are, fighting over this again. The bright future I wasted. Will we ever make peace, for real?_

“Well, it’s a relief to know your… coupling didn’t make you lose your focus on the task at hand,” he mocks, his tone icy.

“I was saying goodbye, Freddie,” she snaps, slamming her hand on the table, the sudden noise startling Julie, who lets out a soft cry and stares at her mother in fear.

“Élise, you don’t have to explain…” Arno says softly, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

She pushes Arno’s hand away, fuming. It wasn’t the time and place to discuss her visions – she wasn’t ready to open up to him about them, not with Madeleine present anyway. But it was high time he realized there was more to this night than he could ever imagine. “No, let me say this, once and for all. I was saying goodbye, because I was certain this fight would take me to my grave. I could feel it in my gut. The cold, ruthlessness of death was awaiting me on the other side of the Temple’s door, and I had no other issue than to face and accept my fate. I only had one night left with Arno, the love of my life, and you can be sure I was going to make it count. But we made a baby that night, and I lived to see another day, another year, and then another year. I am perfectly aware I’m on borrowed time on this Earth, and for this reason, on this day, I will celebrate each and every extra year God gives me, with Arno and my children. For I don’t know how long I shall live, and how long I can keep the ghosts of the past behind.”

Her words resonate in Weatherall’s ears, and his expression softens. Her words, spoken in fury and anger, yet imbued with love and passion, were just what he needed to hear to be at peace with himself, and the pact he concluded with the neighbors. _On borrowed time, that’s exactly what you are. But you have allies. Trust me._

“To many, many more years, my child,” he says after a moment, holding his glass of wine in front of him for a toast. “I wish you nothing but the longest and happiest life.”

“To family!” Élise says after regaining her composure. She raises her glass, her mellowed gaze locked on Weatherall’s, who smiles and nods in agreement.

“To family!” they all repeat, clinking their glasses together.


	24. Legacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this 24th chapter, I break the 200,000 words barrier! When I embarked on this adventure, I never ever thought I'd reach that number... And there's still so much to tell... :)
> 
> As usual, please comment, feedback, suggest... I love hearing from you!

**12 August, 1796**

The sound of giggling children echoes in the bedroom as Élise tries to dress her wriggling twins, unable to resist tickling their little tummies, while Julie runs around in excitement, playing hide and seek under her mother’s skirt. The wedding day finally came, and getting everyone ready for the late afternoon ceremony – adults and children alike –  was proving to be a tall order, and nothing but a joyous mess. Marianne was tending to the farm while Arno was getting ready, taking Weatherall to the barber by cart for the necessary grooming on his special day. His own beard and hair were in need of a good trim anyway. 

“We have to hurry, the carriage will be here soon!” Élise says before taking François into her arms, and wrapping the sling tightly around her son’s body and her own.

“How do I look?” Madeleine asks for the umpteenth time this afternoon. Her pale yellow silk gown, commissioned from the best tailor in Gap the month before, complimented her grey-stranded dark hair falling in loose curls, and made her skin glow. Or was it the emotion that was turning her cheeks a light shade of pink?

“You look beautiful, Madeleine. Freddie will be smitten,” Élise says with a warm smile and an appreciative nod. 

“I hope you are right, Madame Élise. I hope you are right. I suppose we better go! I wouldn’t want to be late to my own wedding, now, would I?” the older woman adds with a chuckle. 

She helps Élise wrap Charles into the sling, snuggled close to his brother. After she made certain the twins were securely held against Élise’s chest, Madeleine takes Julie by the hand, and follows Élise out of the room.

Meanwhile in the kitchen at the foot of the staircase, the men were standing side by side, waiting for the women to be ready. 

“This feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? Only… we’ve switched places,” Arno says, trying to distract the groom, who was visibly getting anxious as time went by. It was not too long ago that he was standing next to Freddie, anxiously waiting for Élise to appear at the top of the staircase. 

Weatherall shakes his head. “Son, I never thought I’d be a groom one day,” he snorts. “And I certainly didn’t think you’d be my best man.”

“I’m glad to have the opportunity of returning the favor,” Arno replies with a smile. 

They turn their gaze back to the staircase, back to waiting.

“Nervous?” Arno asks, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them.

“I hate to admit this to you, but yes, I am nervous,” Weatherall sighs. It was thirty-five years later, thirty-five years after Julie de Fleurian broke the promise they had made to each other to get married a few years before, despite their respective families’ disapproval. Thirty-five years since her words: “I must marry him to form this alliance. But I will always love  _ you _ .” How many times did he imagine himself at François de la Serre’s place as the nervous groom, waiting for his bride at the altar… He smiles wistfully, and takes a deep breath. Today, the memories didn’t make his stomach churn as they usually did. Today, his heart was at peace.  _ This is not the end of the old _ , he thinks to himself.  _ This is just the beginning of something new _ . 

“Oh, here they come!” Arno says, pulling Weatherall out of his contemplations.

“Gentlemen, the bride is ready!” Élise announces cheerfully, stepping aside to let Madeleine go down first.

“My bride…” Weatherall says with a beaming smile as Madeleine comes to stand in front of him. He swallows hard, choked with emotion. 

“My groom…” Madeleine says with the same smitten expression on her face. He looked like a dandy in his new tailored tailcoat suit ordered for the occasion at Arno’s insistence. 

“You look… beautiful. There is no other word,” he says, placing a kiss on Madeleine’s cheek.

She blushes and covers her mouth with her hand, letting out a nervous giggle. “Are you ready?” she asks her future husband with a note of worry in her voice, almost expecting him to say he wasn’t. She still had a hard time believing they were going to be married in an hour! 

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” he replies with a reassuring smile. 

“I think I can hear the carriage approaching,” Arno says as he scoops Julie into his arms. The little girl protested, preferring to walk on her own, but the last thing Arno wanted was her to run towards the carriage and find herself in front of the horses. He had learned his lesson since their fishing expedition, and he wanted to keep a close watch on her.

“Shall we?” Weatherall says, taking Madeleine’s hand in his own, leading the way. 

* * *

Solid as a rock, Freddie was standing stoically as he promised his love to Madeleine. In contrast, his smiling bride felt that her legs could give way at any moment. 

“I do,” they reply in turn to the civil servant, sealing their union..

Arno takes Élise’s hand in his as he hears her discreet sniffles, squeezing it gently. She never meant to cry, she certainly didn’t want to cry, but in her head stirred a whirlwind of emotions, from grief, to love, to happiness, and tears started flowing.  _ Going forward isn’t necessarily an ending _ , she reminded herself, knowing Weatherall’s love for Madeleine didn’t mean he will ever forget her mother. She found comfort in seeing in his eyes something she had never seen before: peace. As he passed the ring around Madeleine’s finger, his gaze locked on hers, his weary eyes were alive again. 

After thanking Fabian and Marcera for their presence at the ceremony, the newlyweds and their party retreated back to La Concorde for an intimate family dinner, with plenty to drink.

“Your cake is sumptuous, Madame Élise,” Madeleine says as she takes another bite of the cake Élise had made earlier that morning, a heavy honey cake decorated with summer fruits and flowers. “I don’t think I need to teach you anything about pâtisserie! You’re already an expert!”

“Does that mean you’ll never be able to make me cakes like that?” Freddie grumbles as he finishes his own plate.   
“Pffff! Freddie!” Madeleine retorts, elbowing him in the side playfully. 

“Are our newlyweds already fighting?” Élise says, amused by the familiarity between them. She had seen a whole new side of her advisor since he stepped out of the carriage a few months back, so different from the broken man she left behind in Saint-Cyr. The cynical old Templar was still there, trying to rally her to the cause once in a while, or making yet another allusion to her  _ bright future _ she supposedly wasted. Also there was the expert swordsman who has been as ruthless with Arno as he had been with her years before, requiring the utmost precision and dedication, and never settling for approximations and  _ good enoughs _ . This summer, she discovered a man with a warm heart, a man who wept when the twins were born, a man who enjoyed playing grandfather with Julie. A man who smiled when his woman smiled, a man who finally allowed himself to love and to be loved. 

“Of course not!” Weatherall retorts with a laugh before emptying his glass of wine.

“The guest house is free, by the way,” Élise suggests with a smirk, pouring him another glass, and filling her own glass. “There haven’t been any guests this summer, sadly. But it’s yours if you need… some privacy.” Raising an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look, she takes a sip of her wine.

“If I recall correctly, judging from what I heard, you didn’t exactly wait until it was time to retire to your room,” Freddie teases with a husky cough. 

Élise lets out a laugh. “I  _ knew it,  _ you heard! I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my life...” she says, shaking her head.

“I can assure you, we haven’t waited for any sort of paper giving us permission to share a bed either,” he hints as he takes a sip of wine, raising an eyebrow. Next to him, Madeleine was covering her face with her hands, a crimson blush on her cheeks, speechless in embarrassment.

“That’s more information I ever wanted to hear, but I’ll blame the wine for this!” Élise says, holding her glass out and clinking it against Freddie’s. “But the offer still stands. You are more than welcome to sleep in the guest house tonight. Or… any other night, for that matter. We wouldn’t want you lovelorn.”

“Wasn’t this my line…?” he asks with squinted eyes.

She nods. “Yes, it was. After I confessed to you what happened during the hot air balloon ride.”

“No, you didn’t!” Arno said as he joined them back at the table to finish his dessert, after putting Julie to bed.

“You thought I could hide this from him? Sleeping with you? He has so many spies and informants in every street corner of Paris, I wouldn’t even be surprised if someone gave him a complete report of what happened!” Élise explains as she fills Arno’s glass to the brim.

“I certainly hope not!” Arno laughs nervously before drinking and hiding behind his glass of wine.

Weatherall shakes his head, holding his hand up to interrupt them. “Let me reassure you, no one gave me a complete report of what happened, and even if someone would have been ready to give me a complete report, I wouldn’t want to hear it. You’re practically my daughter, for heaven’s sake! What you do with Arno is none of my bloody business!”

The four of them burst out in loud laughter.

“This conversation is extremely amusing, but I believe it’s time I take these babies upstairs,” Élise says as she tries to gain back her composure. The wine was making her dizzy.  _ You shouldn’t be drinking so much _ , she scolds herself. Next to her on the floor, the twins were cooing and kicking in their baskets for several minutes already, and she recognized the signs of empty tummies.

“And we will retire to our room as well, we’re not so young anymore…” Madeleine says with a chuckle.

“Nonsense! You are not old!” Élise exclaims as she gets off her chair, grabbing hold of the table for support.  _ Too much wine, way too much wine. _ “And my offer still stands,” she adds with a wink in Freddie’s direction. 

“Élise, will you please stop?” Weatherall warns, shaking his head.

“You’re dying to accept the offer, just admit it!” She bends down to grab the baskets by the handles to lift them, cooing at her hungry babies to distract them. “Arno, help them to the guest house for the night. Let’s give them the privacy they need. I will bring our newlyweds breakfast in bed tomorrow morning, how about that?”

“If you shut up about this until we leave for Paris, yes, I will accept your offer,” Weatherall groans, raising both hands in the air in surrender. 

“I’ll let you gather what you need for the night, and I’ll guide you to the guest house,” Arno says with a laugh. 

“Then it’s settled! A very good night to you, Sir and Madam Weatherall,” Élise says with a beaming smile and a bow of the head, before heading for the staircase, baskets with hungry babies in hands.

* * *

**20 August, 1796**

The week following the wedding flew by, faster than Élise would have wished. It was time for Weatherall and Madeleine to head back home as husband and wife, where Hélène and Jacques would be waiting for them. It was a long journey, with all the risks inherent to travelling over such a long distance, from the carriage breaking down in the middle of nowhere to road brigands.  _ Or Germain’s Templars _ , she thinks to herself with a shudder.  _ Happy thoughts, Élise. Happy thoughts. _

“Do you really have to go back?” she asks, forcing a smile. She was holding Julie in her arms, the little girl’s head resting on her shoulder, and her own head resting on her daughter’s.

“You don’t want me here all the time, child,” Weatherall replies with a commiserating smile. “Criticizing everything you do? I’d drive you insane. No, my place is in Paris.”

“I enjoyed your visit. I feel we grew closer than ever. There was always a certain distance between us, and it feels like we’ve finally closed the gap.”

He nods, having felt the same closeness with his would-be daughter. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve let down of your protective barriers, at last?”

She shrugs. “I suppose I should say the same about you. The old bachelor got married, at last.”

He smiles, his smile fading to a deep frown with concern. “Élise… Be careful. Keep your fire burning. You might feel safe right now, but you know this won’t last. I’ll do everything I can to ensure your safety from Paris.”

“You have eyes and ears everywhere, I know!” she says with a chuckle. She was aware of his numerous Templar contacts scattered throughout Europe, reporting all her comings and goings to him as she followed Germain’s trace.

“I do, indeed,” he said with knowing smile.  _ I even have eyes and ears right next door _ , he was dying to tell her, but he remained silent. “What are you staring at, Milady Julie?” The little girl was staring at him with her usual furrowed brow, her gaze jumping from her mother to Weatherall. “You would make your grandmother proud, Milady Julie,” he says as he takes her little hand in his to kiss it in a chevaleresque manner. “Take good care of your mother. Watch over her while I’m away, will you?”

Julie nods, breaking into a shy smile.

“I love you, Sir Weatherall,” Élise says solemnly, yet with a slight quiver in her voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it quite bluntly, but I love you. And I would like to thank you, for everything you’ve done for me. All those years I didn’t want to listen…”

“Child, I’m simply travelling back to Paris. We’ll see each other again, what are you bloody talking about?” he grumbles with a smile, trying to hide his own uneasiness. 

“We both know life can be over in an instant. Yours… or mine.”

“We will all die, one day. But until then, we will keep on living.” He steps closer and places a kiss on both her cheeks, the kiss of a father for his daughter, and pulls her and Julie into his arms. “I love you too, my dear Élise. I don’t think I’ve ever said it quite bluntly before myself, but I do. I love you.”

She hugs him back, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks. As he pulls away, they stare into each other’s eyes for long moments, their silence speaking a thousand words and conveying the deepest emotions.

“May I steal Madame Élise for a hug?” Madeleine says, holding her arms open in front of her. Weatherall steps back, and Madeleine pulls Élise and Julie into her arms for a hug. “How you’ve changed since you left Paris! From the broken girl who had been through too much, to a loving and caring mother. It’s been a pleasure to help you, and I’ll never forget the birth of the twins. Take good care of yourself, and your children. And Monsieur Arno, or course. And thank you. For making me the happiest woman alive…”

“No need to thank me. Freddie just needed to have his arm twisted a little. I’m delighted you are both officially married. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Madeleine turns to Julie, placing a kiss on the toddler’s cheek. “Goodbye, Mademoiselle Julie. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“All set. Everything has been loaded in the carriage,” Arno announces, patting the dust and dirt from his hands.

“This is it, then. Son, take good care of her,” Weatherall as he shakes Arno’s hand with energy.  “And you know where to find me if you need help… with anything.”

“I will remember that, Sir,” Arno says with a nod. “And you, take good care of my Madeleine.”

“Monsieur Arno, I will miss you,” Madeleine says as she pulls him into her arms and places noisy kisses on his cheeks. “You’re like a son to me, you know that? And I knew it, I just knew it when you found out about Madame Élise being with child: you make a fine father, Monsieur Arno. A fine father. And I am so glad to have seen it with my own eyes. God bless you and your family.”

After another round of hugs, kisses, and goodbyes, the travelers stepped into the carriage.

“Give my regards to Hélène and Jacques. I miss them,” Élise says, holding the carriage door, reluctant to close it. 

“I will,” Freddie says. 

“Farewell, my friends. Until next time…” Her voice breaks as she closes the door of the carriage, and Arno signals to the driver that they are ready to go.

They wave their visitors goodbye as the carriage rolls down the path towards the city and the main road. When the carriage disappears, Élise puts Julie down on the ground and breaks into sobs, letting out the sorrow she had been holding inside.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Arno says softly, pulling her close and holding her tightly against him. “I know you’re sad to see him go…”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she says through her tears.    
“Are you… Are you  _ seeing  _ anything?” he says with a frown.

She shakes her head. “No. But the tight knot in my stomach tells me this might be our last goodbye.” 

“Have faith, my love. Have faith.” He holds her for long minutes, until her tears dried up. Then, taking Julie into his own arms, he escorts Élise back inside the house, hand in hand.

* * *

**8 September, 1796**

Three weeks since the house was empty, three weeks since Freddie and Madeleine had left for Paris.  _ If everything went well, they should have made back it by now _ , Élise thinks to herself as she opens the door of the barn-turned-training-room. She knew she’d find Arno there, but she didn’t expect to find Julie sitting on one of the chairs in the corner of the room, her eyes fixed on her father as he relentlessly practices the same moves. Élise thought Julie to be in her bed for her afternoon nap, not with her father.  _ That is odd _ , she thinks with a frown. She had noticed Arno spending more time with Julie than ever before since the afternoon they went fishing, but she certainly wasn’t going to stop him.  _ A daughter needs her father! _ she thinks with a wistful sigh, her thoughts wandering to her father and Freddie, the two father figures in her life.

“What are you doing here?” Arno asks, lowering his sword at once when he spots her in the doorway, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his breeches, and a brown leather vest. 

“Mama!” Julie greets her mother as Élise caresses her soft red hair and places a kiss on the top of her head.

“Marianne is watching the twins, and I see you have Julie with you. I’m here to train. And I want you to train me,” she announces as she walks towards the wall to pick up her sword. Feeling the weight of her weapon in her hand, she smiles.  _ Too long, it’s been too long. _ The butterflies in her stomach take flight, and excitement pumps in her veins. 

“Are you sure? Isn’t it…” He meets her gaze, a resolute and eager gaze, a hint of the Élise of the past, minus the gloominess. Standing in front of him with her sword in her hand, she was beaming. 

“A bit early? I don’t know, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t it? Go easy on me, I’m more out of shape than ever!” 

She had lost some of the weight gained during her last pregnancy, but back-to-back childbearing has left its physical mark, reviving old injuries and pains and aches. She didn’t recognize her body anymore, and it didn’t move the way it used to. Even the weight of her sword felt unusual. Nevertheless, there was nothing like a good fight to lift her spirits and give her hope about recovering, even if it meant learning from the very beginning all over again. 

“Alright, if you insist,” he chuckles, her enthusiasm contagious. “We should probably work on your strength, too.”

She tilts her head to the side and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Arms, legs, back. Working around the house, in the garden, and caring for the children are all very physical tasks, but you’ve probably lost a lot of strength along the way.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I suppose we’ll have to work on that, too.”  _ Getting back into shape will be a tall order _ , she thinks to herself with a grimace. 

“What do you want to do first?” he asks, pulling her out of her deep thoughts.

“Let’s just spar. For old times’ sake. It should give us an idea of how behind I’ve fallen since I’ve had your babies!” she says, trying to hide the bitterness in her voice with a smile.

“I promise I’ll go easy. En garde, my love!”

Gaze locked on each other and under Julie’s amused and watchful eye, they get into position. Élise is the first to move, taunting Arno with her sword zapping in front of her, but he remains impassive, patiently waiting for an opportunity, an opening. He didn’t have to wait very long, as he notices the clumsiness in her footwork. Catching her off-balance, he launches a swift attack which she counters with equal fleetness. Moving forward aggressively, he drives her back against the wall, where she finds herself unable to move. 

“You said you’d go easy!” she groans, panting. Her back was sore and her shoulder protested when she tried to rotate it. And they were just getting started.

“I am going easy!” he says with a gloating smile as he walks back to give her room to move away from the wall. He was indeed going easy, but it was clear they were not on the same level anymore.

“Goodness, did I lose every single ounce of skills I had?” she moans, shaking her head.  _ A very tall order indeed _ , she cringes.

“Or perhaps it’s the effect of me training with Freddie on a regular basis all summer?”

“I prefer this explanation, yes,” she laughs. “I would have loved to at least train once with him before he leaves…” she adds with a deep sigh of regret. The knot was still holding her stomach in its grip every time she thought of her old advisor and remembered the look she saw in his eyes. She was convinced he felt the same thing, but neither of them wanted to express it, by fear of tempting fate.

Arno touches her arm and squeezes it gently. “Another time, I’m sure.”

“Let’s take a little break,” she says, nodding. Then, she turns her head towards Julie, who was still quietly observing her parents from the corner of the room. “Are you enjoying watching mama and papa, Julie Bunny? One day, you can play with us, too!”

“Élise… Can I talk to you about something?” he interrupts, searching her gaze.

That furrowed brow of his, she had seen it countless of times, and it usually meant something important. “Sure…?” she says, frowning. “By the look on your face, I should probably be worried.”

“It’s about Julie…” he says in a half-voice, in the hope that their daughter wouldn’t hear him pronounce her name.  _ Why bother? _ he sneers at himself.  _ She can hear everything! _

She makes a faint gasping sound. “What about Julie?” Élise whispers, as Arno takes her by the elbow to lead her to the opposite side of the room.

“The other day, when I went fishing with her…” he begins, searching for the right words. He knew already she wouldn’t take the news very well.  _ Your beloved daughter has the skills of an Assassin _ , he was dying to say, as clearly and as bluntly as he could ever say it. However, he was aware this task will require a more tactful and subtle approach.

He breaks into a large smile to lighten the mood. “You should have seen her, I was talking to her, telling her a story, and she had her eyes fixed on the line. I swear, she would notice a fish biting on the line before I would, each and every time,” he continues, his eyes filled with pride.

“You were not paying attention, that’s why!” she sneers with a shrug, not exactly sure what he was getting at.

He shakes his head, his smile gradually fading. “No, I was. I can concentrate on something I see, and still do something else at the same time, like talking. I was watching the line, too.” 

Her frown deepens in confusion, and there is a flicker of alertness in her eyes as she seems to process his words and try to make sense out of them. “What are you trying to say?” she asks impatiently.

_ There is no easy way to say this… _ “I think Julie is like me. Better than me, even,” he says pitifully.

“Like  _ you _ …?” she stammers, a mixture of incredulity and pain in her voice and in her eyes.

He sees her realization, and his pitiful expression only deepens. “She seems to have the same skills I have,” he concludes with a deep sigh.

She brings a hand to her forehead, as if trying to stop her thoughts from spinning around in her mind. “Are you sure?” she asks, 

“I can’t say for sure, she’s too young, I can’t ask her what she sees, what she feels, and she can’t explain it to me. But things are starting to make sense.”

“Like what? What things?” she asks brusquely, her squinted eyes now blazing. What was it that she didn’t even notice about her own daughter, her flesh and blood? How could she be so blind?

Arno looks in Julie’s direction. The little girl is quietly playing with her snuggling doll, rocking it in her arms like she saw her mother do with her brothers, speaking to it in her own baby talk. By the way she glances at her parents from time to time, he knows she is listening and hearing every word they are saying. 

“How she reacts when we speak too loud, or if there are loud noises, for example,” he tries to explain, bringing his eyes back to look at Élise. “It’s not that she doesn’t like conflict, or us fighting – at least not as such. She hears everything,  _ everything _ , and the sound is amplified. I bet she’s hearing us speaking very clearly right now. I know what it’s like, I remember when I was a young child, I couldn’t shut down the sounds the way I can now. I could hear conversations happening in the next room as clearly as if the persons were standing right next to me. I could literally hear a pin drop even though a room was filled with all sorts of noises. It was frightening and overwhelming, and it took me a lot of effort to learn how to control it.”

Her face distorts in uncomprehending disbelief, her heart breaking. “So you’re saying we made a little baby Assassin, is that what you’re saying?”

He shakes his head.  _ This is not going well, as expected. _ “I’m saying our daughter is gifted,” he says with a smile in an attempt to soothe the blow, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “Take for example how she doesn’t want to stay in her room, and prefers to sleep with us. Yes, maybe we’ve spoiled her. But think about it: she’s a tiny toddler, and suddenly after her brothers were born, we moved her to a dark room, in which she can see and hear everything. She’s alone, and she doesn’t understand what’s happening around her, what’s happening  _ to _ her. When she’s with us, there are enough comforting noises to cover the other noises she might experience as frightening: our snoring, her brothers’ breathing or even their crying. She’s with us, and she feels safe. And the lullabies. When I sing to her, my voice covers the sounds for a little while, enough for her to focus on my voice, calm herself down, and ultimately fall asleep.”

She nods pensively, pondering on his words. Her beloved daughter, her flesh and blood, who she wanted to become like herself more than anything, has been gifted with the Assassin skills of her father… _ That’s why he was spending so much time with her lately. This isn’t real, I must be dreaming, I need to wake up from this nightmare _ , she thinks to herself, feeling the room around her starting to spin. She puts her hand on the wall to keep herself from falling, and takes several deep breaths to regain her composure. 

“Have you noticed anything else?” she manages after a moment, swallowing hard.

“Not yet. I’ll keep a close eye on her. When she’s old enough to understand, she’ll need me to guide her, to teach her how to filter the noises, and concentrate on what she needs to see, among other things.”

“And make her an Assassin,” she retorts bitterly.

“I haven’t said that. We promised we would not drag the children into this. And I’m going to keep  my promise.”

“Are the boys going to be the same? They are not behaving like Julie was when she was their age.”  _ Maybe there’s a chance that one of them will be like me _ , she wonders, a glimmer of hope in her heart.

“Time will tell. Maybe their senses are not as developed as Julie’s. Yet. They can learn to develop them further when they are older.”

“I see,” she says, defeated. She glances at Julie, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of her little girl staring right back at her.  _ Why? _ she would like to scream, but instead she presses her lips together to keep silent.

“I know you wanted her to be like you,” Arno says softly, searching for her gaze. 

She turns her eyes back to him, and forces a smile. “Well, if she ever becomes as skilled as I am –  _ was  _ – with a sword, combined with your senses, we got ourselves a very powerful daughter, don’t we?” She presses her lips together again, this time to suppress a sob. “What are you planning to do?” she asks, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

“Continue observing her, and try to help her the best I can, until she can understand what’s happening to her. And after that… Train her, I suppose.”

“I should probably go back to the house, the twins will have finished their nap.” She dashes across the room, only stopping an instant to hand her sword back on the wall. “Are you coming with mama, Julie?” Élise says with feigned enthusiasm in her voice. The toddler nods, and her mother picks her up from the chair to carry her back to the house..

“Élise, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m saying I’m sorry, but I am,” Arno pleads, coming to stand between her and the door to stop her from leaving.

“I should have known making babies with an Assassin meant I’d give birth to more Assassins,” she snarls between clenched teeth. 

She spat the word Assassin like it was the filthiest word, and her icy cold glare cut right through his heart. “She’s not an Assassin. And neither am I,” he says gravely. 

“We’ll talk about this later. Come, Julie! We’re going to see your brothers,” she says, purposely bumping her shoulder on his arm to push him aside and out of her way.

_ That went well _ , he thinks to himself as she slams the door behind her.

* * *

Élise dismissed Marianne immediately upon stepping foot back inside the house. She was in no mood to see or talk to anyone. She wanted to be alone, she  _ needed  _ to be alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her children.

She puts Julie on the floor of the sitting room to play, and after climbing upstairs to make sure the twins were still asleep, she crawls into bed, and with her face in her pillow, she finally allowed herself to cry. Sobs gush forth, wave after wave, warm tears running down her cheeks. 

Out of the blue, small hands tapping on her leg snap Élise out of her sorrow.

“Mama, no cwy! Mama! Mama!” Julie says as she moves closer to her mother.

“Ju-Julie?” Élise says, swallowing back her tears. She turns her head and sees Julie standing next to the bed, staring right into her mother’s teary eyes. “Julie, you know mama doesn’t want you to climb upstairs alone! You can fall and hurt yourself”  _ Why am I scolding her, she is just trying to help _ … Élise breaks into sobs again, touched by her daughter’s presence at her side. 

Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, she props herself up and leans over the side of the bed to grab Julie and pull her into bed with her. 

“Mama, no cwy, mama,” Julie says, throwing her arms around Élise’s neck for a hug.

“Mama is a little bit sad, and I’m crying,” Élise says softly, holding her daughter tightly against her. “You are a very special little girl, do you know that?”

_ Why am I crying, then? _ she asks herself.  _ Because my daughter takes more after her father than I had expected? Because I had the silly idea that my daughter would be like me? Isn’t it rather a good thing that she has her father’s skills? Imagine the things she will be able to do, that you never will be able to. Imagine the possibilities! And for heaven’s sake, you named her after your own mother, a strong defender of peace and unity. Isn’t Julie exactly what you thought she would be: the best of a Templar and an Assassin? Look at you. Crying like a spoiled child who didn’t get to play with her favorite toy. Mother wouldn’t be proud of you. Is this the kind of example you want to give your daughter? _

At once, Élise dries her tears. She pulls her head back a little to look at Julie, who was smiling to see her mother smile again. 

“I wuv you, mama!” the little girl says, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek.

Élise chuckles, and rubs their noses together. “I love you too, Julie Bunny. More than you can ever imagine.”

In one of the bassinets, Charles is awake, cooing and wriggling about.

“I think baby Charles needs to be changed. Will you help mama change your little brother?” Élise asks Julie, who nods. “Being a big sister is hard work, and mama is happy you're helping!” she adds before kissing her daughter on the cheek.

After changing Charles, followed by François who didn’t want to be left out, Élise lays her twin babies next to her in bed, with Julie curled up on the other side. She gazes at her little boys, at their bright brown eyes and their toothless smiles as she gently caresses their cheeks.  _ They surely have their father’s looks, but will they have his skills too? _ she wonders.  _ And what if they do? Who cares? _

One by one, she places a tender kiss on her children’s foreheads, and then lies down on her side. With a deep sigh of contentment, she closes her eyes, and let sleep envelop her. 

* * *

Élise woke up refreshed and re-energized from her nap with her children, and after feeding the twins and much cuddling, she took her brood downstairs to prepare the soup for the evening. 

“Good job, Julie, you ate everything!” Élise says a few hours later at the dinner table, clapping her hands to congratulate her daughter. “Look at me, you’ve got carrots all over your chin!”

“Down, mama!” Julie says, bouncing her legs with impatience, as she lets her mother clean her face.

“Alright. I’ll put you down, mama needs to talk to papa anyway. Then you’ll have a bath, and papa will tell you a story before you go to sleep.”

“Stowy wi’ papa!” the little girl says, her whole face lighting up at her words.

“Yes, papa will tell you a story, and then you’ll go to sleep,” Arno says with a smile, exchanging a quick knowing look with Élise. 

After untying her bib, she puts Julie on the floor, and the toddler immediately runs to the sitting room to play with her favorite doll.   

“Are you sure she’s like you?” Élise asks, glancing at her daughter while picking up François from his basket on the table. Her youngest son was awake and fussing, seemingly experiencing discomfort, while Charles was wake and giggling in his own basket.  _ You can’t be teething already, can you? Or is it that you just want to cuddle?  _ she thinks as she cradles her baby boy into her arms, and gently pats his back to comfort him. 

“I can’t be certain yet, but it’s highly likely,” Arno replies with a sigh, relieved to have found Élise in a better mood at the end of his working day than when she stormed out of the barn earlier this afternoon.  _ Maybe we can finish this conversation calmly. _

“I didn’t even notice. I am spending my whole days with her, and I never even notice,” she says, shaking her head.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. The signs are still subtle, I hadn’t noticed until I got to be alone with her. And based on my experience…”

“Yes, because  _ you  _ know what it’s like, and  _ I  _ don’t…”

“I don’t know what it’s like to have visions of the future. Only visions of the past, in the form of borrowed flashbacks from other people. You are gifted too, that our daughter ended up with my skills doesn’t change anything about that. And who knows, maybe she will even have your skills on top of mine. We don’t know that yet, she can’t talk.”

“I know…” she sighs. In her arms, François is still fussing.  _ What is it that you want, my baby boy? Alright, I think I know what you want!  _ She offers him her breast and by the way he latched, she knew she was right in thinking her son was hungry, or in need of suckling for comfort – or both.  _ Just like your big sister. Maybe you’ll be like Julie? What will you become, my baby boy? _

Arno smiles, admiring the contrast of Élise’s temperaments, from the fires of anger and pain, to the serenity of motherhood.  _ I wish I knew which one of the two I’m speaking to at any given moment, _ he sighs.

“I need to ask you this,” he begins hesitantly. “Were you planning on raising Julie a Templar?”

She looks up to stare into his eyes, a bewildered look on her face. “What? No! Why on Earth would I want to do that?”

He shrugs. “I needed to ask. You kept on referring to her as an Assassin this afternoon, quite bitterly, I might add. This made me think you had your mind set up on something. Something we had agreed would not happen.”

She purses her lips, holding his gaze. “We had agreed we would never force them to pick a side. We had agreed we’d teach them both views equally. We had agreed we would show them peace and unity is possible.”

“We had agreed to stay out of this ourselves, and keep the children away as well. But you seem to have changed your mind. Was it when you asked me to join the Assassins again?”

She sighs, and looks down at François, who was suckling lazily at her breast. “Partially. The vision of the twins fighting, and Julie trying reunite her brothers had me wanting you to join the Assassins and plead for peace,” she says, as she brushes the back of her fingers on her baby’s cheek. “If we achieve peace before the twins are old enough to get involved, the fight would never happen, wouldn’t it? But then you said you wouldn’t do it, and I figured this meant I would have to. Or if it wasn’t me…”

He lets out an indignant scoff. “You thought Julie would? Are you out of your mind?” he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“When Julie was born, I told her she was promised to a great future,” she explains calmly. “That’s what my instinct is telling me. I thought she could be the key to end the fight, and I thought if I train her…”

“I’m not letting you train her!” he states categorically. 

“Oh,  _ I _ can’t train her, but  _ you  _ can!” she sneers.   
“I’m not letting you train her alone.  _ We _ need to train her  _ together _ .” He leans forward, his dark eyes looking straight at her. “But let me be clear: I didn’t make children to send them out on the battlefield and watch them get slaughtered. This family is all I have, and you can be sure as hell I’m going to keep it whole. As long as there is no threat, I see no reason for you and me to get involved again. But should the need arise…”

She nods, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “We will be ready.”

“As a family. United.” They share a long look before they exchange nods of agreement. “And we can train together as often as you want, we’ll get you back into shape in no time, I promise,” Arno adds, with a large grin. 

“Until you make me another baby, that is!” she teases with a chuckle, gazing down at François who was fighting sleep in her arms.

“Then we’ll start your training all over again. No big deal.”

She looks up to meet Arno’s dark gaze. “Teach me,” she says, her eyes at once gleaming with excitement. “Teach me how to climb, teach me how to fight like you’ve been taught. I’m good with a sword, but I could use more fighting techniques. If you are going to teach the children, I don’t want to be left out. I want to learn from you, too.”

His eyes light up and his smile widens at her unexpected words. “If that’s what you want, of course!” Suddenly, his smile fades and his expression takes a serious turn. “Can you promise me something, though? And you better hold that promise.”

“What is it?” she asks with a frown.

He glances at his children, at Julie in the sitting room playing with her doll, at Charles happily cooing and wriggling in his basket on the table, and at François finally asleep in Élise’s arms, before staring back into Élise’s eyes. “If Julie, or François, or Charles, or any of our other future children for that matter, do not show any interest in our teachings, or clearly voice they are not willing to join us in the fight, you have to promise me we will respect their choice and leave them alone. However skilled they turn out to be. I don’t want to force anything upon them.”

“Yes, of course,” she says, nodding vehemently. “I’ve always said my children would be free to choose whichever path they want in life, and I will hold this promise. I don’t want them to have to go through the same pain and suffering I’ve been through, and be pushed and groomed against their will for something they didn’t ask for. I’m simply… preparing them. Just in case. We still have so many enemies out there. Teaching our children to defend themselves isn’t forcing anything upon them, is it? We owe it to our children to teach them how to fight back, should they ever get attacked and we’re not there to defend them!”

He nods. “And I agree. But  _ only  _ if they are interested. If they have no interest in holding a sword in their hand, if they prefer books, or working on the farm, or God knows what, we  _ must  _ respect their choice. Promise me you will, please.”

“I promise,” she says solemnly.

Satisfied, he breaks into a wide sheepish smile. “Are you still bitter Julie has my skills? I know what she means to you, and again, I’m sorry...”

She sighs, then bites her lower lip with the same sheepish smile. “I had selfishly hoped she’d be like me, yes. What mother doesn’t want her daughter to be a little copy of herself?”

“And a little jealous too?” he teases with a smirk.

“Of course I am jealous. You will develop a relationship with her that I will never be able to grasp. You both see the world in a different way than I do. At the same time, the fact that she has your skills makes her more special in my eyes. Can you imagine how far she could get, what our daughter could achieve, if we train her adequately?”

There it was again, that spark of excitement in Élise’s eyes.  _ I can never keep you in a cage, even with children in tow,  _ he chuckles to himself in amazement. _ Heck, you’ll take the children out of the cage with you _ . He then turns his head towards Julie, who is pretending to play with her doll.  _ And I know you’re listening, precious little girl! _

As if she heard him think, she gives her father a side glance, then quickly turns her gaze back to her doll.

“She’s special, for sure,” he says with a half-laugh.

“Arno, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did earlier today. I was hurt, and I didn’t mean the words I said.”

He turns his head back to Élise, taking her free hand in his. “I understand, and I forgive you.” He brings her hand to his lips to kiss it gently.

“Papa, up! Stowy!” Julie says, now standing next to him with her little arms held in the air.

Letting go of Élise’s hand, he smiles at his daughter, before picking her up and sitting her on his knee.

“It’s your bath first, then the story. Not the other way around!” he scolds mildly.

Julie gives her father a petulant pout, and then snuggles into his arms. 

“How long are we going to live at peace here?” Élise asks with a deep sigh.  _ The whole family around the table – it’s too good to be true, too good to last a lifetime. _

“I don’t know. As long as possible, years and years, I hope,” he replies with the same deep sigh. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it. As a family.” 


	25. Clandestine (E)

**3 November, 1796**

The autumn leaves have fallen, and the air is getting colder. That time of the year when it’s too cold to stay outside, when wool blankets are taken out of drawers, and when the warm fire is burning in the hearth. That time of year when the scullery is filled with preserves, ready for hearty winter meals.

Élise is sitting reclined on the sofa, holding her drowsy twins with their tummies full of milk against her chest.  

“You are so talented, Henriette. I wish I could make what you make, I’m useless!” she says, mesmerized by the expert crisscrossing of the knitting needles. After a chat in town the week before, and in the hope of rekindling their budding friendship, she invited Henriette to come by – she missed their long afternoons of sewing and knitting, and Julie was delighted to have found her playmate again in Antoine, Henriette’s son.

“Don’t say that!” Henriette said with a chuckle. “You’ve made a pretty dress for Julie last winter! A very pretty dress for someone who didn’t know how to sew!”

“All thanks to you! Knitting isn’t my favorite thing. It takes so long, and I already have so much to do!” Élise says with a groan. “Sometimes I feel my life is nothing but a blur of dirty nappies and babies at my breasts. It never stops! When would I find time to knit a blanket?”

“You could knit while nursing,” Henriette offers with a shrug.

“And poke my baby’s eye with a needle?”

“Never mind, that’s not a good idea! What do you do when you nurse, then?”

“If Marianne is watching Julie, I take a quick nap, a real luxury! Otherwise, I try to keep an eye on my daughter while my hands are tied – notice I said _try_! Sometimes, I draw. If Julie is quietly playing, I draw her. Or one of her baby brothers. Other times, I read, the same books I read hundreds of times, but it keeps my mind busy.”

Henriette sighs. “I wish I could read. I can read a little, and sign my name. But books? No. So many complicated words!”

“You never learned how to read?” Élise asks with a frown.

“Why would I need to read? Girls don’t need to know these things, my father used to say. All I had to do was marry a good man. You…” She looks around the sitting room, at the shelves filled with books of all sorts, from literary classics to scientific essays. “You obviously went to school, with all those books you have here…”

“My father considered education to be very important.” Élise pauses and sighs. “Of course we could afford it.” She feels a pinch of guilt whenever she hints at her noble upbringing, even though she knows she can’t fool anyone with her perfect French speech and her refined manners. Over time, she has gotten used to the local language and she managed to speak it well enough to make herself understood, but in their ears she will always sound like a foreigner – a posh Parisian.

“We didn’t,” Henriette snorts. “Even my brother, my father didn’t have enough money to send him to school for very long.”

“Wouldn’t you want to learn?” Élise asks with a smile, an idea suddenly flashing in her head.

“Learn what? How to read?”

“Well, yes. I could teach you, if you want.”

“Why would I need to learn how to read?” Henriette laughs, incredulous. “I have my baby to raise, things to do around the house. My husband is taking care of all the paper matters. He can read, I married a good man, you know!” she adds defensively.

“But what if something happens to him, and you are left alone with Antoine? What then?” Élise insists.

“I suppose I would have to find another husband who can read,” Henriette shrugs.

“Wouldn’t you want to be able to take care of the paper matters, as you call them, all by yourself? And show your son how a strong, independent woman his mother is?” Élise glances at Julie and Antoine, the toddlers giggling as they chase each other around the in the kitchen. Children -- equals – playing together. But what about their chances in life, will they be the same? _Probably not_ , Élise reasons herself. _But maybe there’s a way._..

“Strong? Independent?” Henriette sneers. “Easy for you to say, only money buys you power and freedom, we all know that around here…”

“No, not money,” Élise corrects, shaking her head. “Knowledge. The Revolution gave us women rights we never had. We can buy our own properties. We can even divorce our unfaithful husbands. Access to schools is easier than ever, not only for boys, but for girls, too. Now imagine in the near future, we could send all daughters of France, rich or poor, to school. Wouldn’t this be a revolution in itself? But in order to educate our daughters in the future, we need to educate their mothers right now. Mothers who will know their rights, who will raise their daughters to stand up for themselves, and not depend on their husbands’ situation to survive…”

Henriette bursts out in laughter. “Listen to yourself! You’re delirious! Is this what they taught you in your fancy school? What’s next, a woman mayor? The place of women is with their families. It’s been like this since God’s Creation, and no Revolution is going to change that.”

“The Revolution would have happened earlier if everyone would have been given the opportunity to break their chains,” Élise retorts. “ _Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime._ Knowledge is power. And as long as only a handful of people are given this power, the rest of the population will continue to wallow in poverty. It’s at any power-hungry king’s advantage to keep his subjects as ignorant as possible.”

The two women stare incredulously at each other for a moment: it was more than a clash of words – it was a clash of worlds.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Henriette asks with a smirk, a note of envy in her voice. “If you hold so much knowledge, what are you doing here in this forsaken part of this bloody country? Why didn’t you stay in Paris?”

“In Paris where I belong? I’m afraid it’s a very long and complicated story. Something I’m not able to share with you at the moment, for my safety and my children’s,” Élise explains, a grave expression on her face.

“I see,” Henriette says with a frown, Élise’s words leaving her perplexed. “Do you really think I could learn?” she asks after a long moment of silence. “And where will I find books? I can’t buy books, or paper to write on! What would my husband think of me?”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Élise says with a warm smile, pleased to hear her friend was warming up to her idea. “We’ll keep it a secret. Our secret. And don’t worry about finding books or paper, I have more than enough!”

“I need to think about it...“ Henriette says quickly, shaking her head, visibly overwhelmed by the perspective of learning to read, and keeping secrets from her husband.

“Come back tomorrow. Julie loves playing with Antoine, look at them! Just a little hour, a little hour for your future, and your son’s future.”

Henriette meets Élise’s kind gaze, and forces a smile. “I still need to think about it.”

“Take your time. My door will always be open.”

* * *

**14 December, 1796**

Henriette did come by the following day, and the next. While the toddlers played and the babies babbled and rolled, Élise began with the basics – letters, numbers – and had her friend try reading simple syllables. A month later, Henriette was making slow but steady progress, yet the difficulty of the task at hand was no measure for her enthusiasm.

While shopping at the market one morning of early December, Élise was startled by a hand tapping on her shoulder.

“Henriette told me about your lessons,” a young woman called Claudine whispered as Élise turned around. She was holding her three year old daughter by the hand, and a half-full basket in the other. “I can read a little bit, but I’d like to learn more. Henriette can’t stop talking about what you’re teaching her.”

Élise smiled. _That was unexpected!_ “I would love to teach you, but with the twins, I can’t get out of the house that easily for a long period of time. Can you come at the same time as Henriette tomorrow afternoon? Bring your daughter, she can play with our children during the lesson.”

Claudine nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I’ll pretend I’m visiting Henriette, and we’ll come together. My husband will not suspect anything.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you around, then.”

They exchanged knowing nods and winks, before parting ways in opposite directions.

The day that followed, the house filled with laughter – and cries, too – of playful children. Élise hadn’t slept a wink the night before, in nervous anticipation of welcoming her second pupil, but found a new energy in the women’s eagerness to learn. The was no better reward than the joy in their eyes when they deciphered more complicated words, or made no errors when writing the words Élise was dictating.

Marianne walked in on the lessons on a few occasions, but she shrugged her concerns away and joined the children’s games instead.

The lessons continued two days per week, never on the same day of the week, by fear of arousing suspicion from their respective husbands, or nosy neighbors. On the days where she wasn’t playing teacher, Élise trained faithfully with Arno, under Julie’s observant eye on some occasions. Gradually, Élise regained control of her body and its movements, and while each training left her panting and drained, it also left her smiling.

“Enough for today, you look exhausted,” Arno says after an hour of intense fighting.

“That’s because I am! You can’t have slept much more than I did, though. The boys wouldn’t stop crying, it’s hard enough when _one_ baby is teething…”

“Between Julie’s terrors and the twins crying, I haven’t slept much, no,” he chuckles as he hangs his sword on the wall and then stretches his back.

Their little girl often woke up screaming at the top of her lungs, and he tried his best to pacify her and get her to fall asleep again. Each time, he tried to make her describe what she was seeing or hearing, to no avail. Julie’s night terrors were one of his biggest puzzles to date when it came to understanding his daughter – his gut was telling him they must have something to do with her senses developing, but he wasn’t entirely sure. And whatever the cause of these terrors was, he had to admit he was at loss as to how to help her through them.

“And yet, you were full of energy just now. And…” She bites her lip. The light blue shirt he was wearing had a low-cut front opening, and she couldn't keep her eyes off him, mesmerized by the rippling of his muscles at each of his moves. She had never seen him wear it before, and it was stirring the sleeping butterflies in her stomach awake. “And looking quite handsome, too. The open shirt, it’s… nice on you,” she stammers.

He glances at her, and notices the blush on her cheeks. “Throwing compliments at me, you must want to ask a favor. Cut to the chase, what do you want?”

“Things were so much easier when you couldn’t read me so well!” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Yes, I want to ask you something. Can I have money?”

“You know you don’t need to ask me to take money if you need to buy something,” he says, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Just don’t forget to write it down in the book so I know it didn’t get stolen.”

She comes to stand in front of him, a sheepish smile on her lips. “I need more than a few coins…”

He crosses his arms over his chest, searching her gaze. “Alright, how much do you need, and most importantly, what do you need it for?”

“I need money to buy books. School books. I’m not sure how much these will cost, I don’t even know where I’ll find books like that, but I’m sure they will cost more than handful of coins.”

“Books? What for? Julie is a bit young still, don’t you think?” he asks with an incredulous frown. _Books? That was unexpected,_ he thinks to himself.

“It’s not for Julie!” she groans impatiently. “There’s this _something_ that I’ve been doing the past few weeks…” she admits, looking down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.

She confesses everything: how she offered Henriette to teach her how to read, how she gained another pupil shortly after, how they’ve been meeting a few days per week for lessons, and how exhilarating it felt to witness their progress and empower her friends. She speaks animatedly, gesturing with her hands, her eyes sparkling.

“The books we have on our bookshelves are great, but they are too complex. And they need more than just reading lessons, they need to know how to calculate, balance a budget... “ she adds to justify her request.

Arno had listened patiently to her explanation, and found her passionate speech rather amusing, but he couldn't help shaking his head in disbelief. “You know this could get you – get us – into deep, deep trouble? Do you realize the danger?” he warns gravely.

“The Catholic Church isn’t controlling schools and education anymore. I’m not doing anything illegal, am I?” she huffs defensively. “I’m giving these women the tools they need in order to be independent, should anything ever happen to their husbands. I’m allowing them to make educated choices about their lives, for their own benefit and the benefit of their children. This isn’t a crime, is it? The poorest amongst the poor have generously offered their time, or their skills, or even money, to help us when we were in need. With the money from my father's estate and the land we own, we are effectively one of the richest families in the region. Is it a crime to give back to this community who welcomed us with open arms?”

“No, it’s not a crime,” he says with a deep sigh. “What you are doing is admirable, and you have my full support. But…”

“But…?”

“Not everyone will agree with us. Stirring things up potentially puts the family in danger.”

“Danger of what? Being imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit?” she retorts, bewildered.

“You wouldn’t be the first one, it happens to the best of us!” he sneers in bitter mockery.

“As long as no one talks…” she says softly, looking into his eyes for his approval.

He reaches to frame her face with his hands, his fingers threading in her hair. “Élise, be careful. Secrets always surface. We’ve already made quite a name for ourselves here, we need to keep a low profile.”

“I’ll be discreet. I promise.”

“I suppose you know what you’re doing...“ he says with a sigh. He pulls her close and places a kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” she chuckles.

“For doing this. For helping these women. It’s daring, it’s dangerous, it’s revolutionary…”

“It’s also merging both the Templars and the Assassins ideals into one,” she says with a confident smirk. “Knowledge is power, but I also believe everyone should have the opportunity to receive this power, for everyone to freely make the best educated choices to better their lives and the lives of the ones around them, and therefore contributing to the advancement of society.”

“I find smart women incredibly attractive…” he says, their lips are only separated by a breath.

“I think the same of men wearing open shirts...” she murmurs before closing the gap between them, her arms coiling around his neck. It was a tender kiss, warm and loving, with just a hint of urgency.

“How did this conversation go from you asking me for money, to you flirting with me?” he asks after breaking the kiss.

“It actually started with me flirting. I’m simply picking up where I left…” she shrugs with a coy smile. “I better go back, the children will need me!” she adds reluctantly.

“And Francis should be here…” He pulls his watch out of his pocket. ” ...in a few minutes.”

“His parents have finally allowed him to train with you, it took them long enough!”

“And the boy is surprisingly good. He’s built a lot of strength during the summer while he was helping out the carpenter in town, and it’s in his nature to be precise, to calculate everything. If timing allows it, you should train with us. He could learn a lot from you, too.”

“I can’t promise, as I’m tied to all sorts of schedules these days, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’re progressing fast, by the way. We still need to work on your strength and endurance, but you’ll get there.”

She presses her lips on his one more time before saying: “Soup will be on the table at 6 o’clock.”

* * *

**20 December, 1796**

“You’re not coming to the ball this year?” Marcera asks as she takes a sip of her hot tea, warming her hands on her cup. Serious about keeping the promise she made to Freddie, she knocked on Élise’s door, inviting herself for tea and a chat. She had noticed the coming and going of Henriette and Claudine, and she was eager to get to the bottom of it.

“Not this year, not with the twins so young,” Élise sighs with a hint of regret in her voice. “I know there’s a nursery, but we’d rather celebrate together as a family. The boys have started crawling, Julie is growing up so fast, and I can just see the whole family huddled in front of the warm fireplace to welcome the New Year!”

“I certainly can’t blame you, family is important! These society events aren’t my cup of tea, but I must put on a brave face, my prettiest dress, and accompany my husband. The gatherings aren’t bothering me as such, I’d rather have my house filled with guests instead of having to go to another venue.”

“You know, I still don’t have the slightest clue as to why Freddie insisted on meeting you and Fabian. He never told me what you talked about,” Élise notes matter-of-factly.

“Oh! Nothing worth mentioning, really,” Marcera dismisses quickly. “He told a bit about himself – and about you. He was more interested in knowing who we were.”

“And? Have you revealed all your secrets?” Élise asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We don’t have any secrets!” Marcera says with feigned indignation. “He cares about you,” she adds with a warm smile.

“He’s my second father. And while we were not always in agreement with regards to decisions I made in the past, he always supported me. I owe him a lot, he literally saved my life on several occasions…” She sighs wistfully.

“When will you see him again?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we can ever travel to Paris, not with so many young children, and we can’t leave the farm for several weeks, I’d be too worried. I’m hoping he can visit at least once, before…” Her voice breaks as the knot in her stomach tightens.

“Don’t speak like that!” Marcera says, squeezing her hand gently. “He is as fit as a young man! And no one can predict the future, you have to have faith.”

 _Unless you_ can _predict the future, of course,_ Élise thinks to herself. “I suppose you’re right. I should keep hoping…” She takes a deep, loud breath, and forces a smile. “Let’s talk about something else. I have something to ask you, I need your help.”

“I’m listening,” Marcera says, her smile widening, always ready to help out her young friend.

“Would you have any idea where I could buy school books?”

“School books? Julie is a bit young for school, don’t you think?” Marcera says with a chuckle.  
“It’s not for Julie,” Élise says impatiently. She pauses a moment to gather her thoughts, and attempts to read Marcera’s facial expression to anticipate her reaction. “I’ve been giving private lessons to Henriette and Claudine – reading, writing, counting, that sort of thing. I thought it would be easier if I could use real school books –”

“And why on Earth would you be doing this?” Marcera interrupts sharply. “Do their husbands know what’s going on? Does Arno know what’s going on?”

“Why would their husbands need to know? Why would Arno need to know?” Élise retorts, on the defensive. “Women are citizens of France just like men, they can decide for themselves!”

“Are you really so naive, or you’re pretending?”

Élise’s mouth falls open in shock upon hearing Marcera’s words. “I beg your pardon?” she hisses glaring irritably at the older woman.

“That’s not how it works. Not in this town.” Marcera takes a deep breath to cool her frustration, in fear of saying something she might regret, of saying too much and betraying Weatherall. “Listen to me,” she continues, her tone somewhat mellowed. “There are a lot of people in this town who will not take a liking in what you’re doing.”

“Because it serves their interests in keeping the population as ignorant as possible, am I right?” Élise sneers. “To keep on controlling their lives and pocket their hard-earned money? And kick them to the streets if they are down on their luck from a bad harvest, or an accident?”

“To keep order. Things have finally started to settle since the riots a few years ago, between royalists and revolutionaries. You do _not_ want to cause another storm.” _And you do not want to bring attention to yourself. I’ll have to warn Freddie, this could become a serious problem,_ Marcera ponders.

“Oh, believe me, I am not afraid of riots and uproars,” Élise says with a defiant laugh. _I’ve been at the center of several of them_ , she thinks to herself.

“Élise, be careful. For your safety, and that of your children…”

“Why is everyone telling me to be careful?’ Élise exclaims, raising her hands in mock horror. “I know what I’m doing is not a crime against any law in this world. And Fabian, on which side is he? On the side of the rulers, or on the citizens’ side? He is deputy mayor after all…”

“He is on your side, I can assure you,” Marcera says as calmly as she can manage, irritated by Élise’s stubbornness and snide remarks. Yet, part of her was in full agreement with the principle of educating and empowering her fellow citizens, and lead them towards emancipation and freedom. Isn’t it after all what they fought for? _If only it wasn’t so dangerous._ “I might know where you could find books. And I’ll help you, if you promise me to keep it quiet.”

“Keeping secrets is my specialty, that’s something you ought to know about me,” Élise says with a genuine smile, with a hint of relief on her face, overjoyed to know she could count on her friend for help.

 _Ah yes, the secrets Freddie told us about_ , Marcera nods to herself. “Good. Come by tomorrow for a cup of tea, when your children are napping. I’ll have something for you.”

* * *

**21 December 1796**

The following day, Élise eagerly knocks on Marcera’s door. After a somewhat forced small talk about Élise’s children while she prepares the tea, Marcera slips out momentarily and comes back with a stack of books.

“I have some books for you,” she says, putting them on the table in front of Élise. “These books were my older children’s books when they were in school. You can keep them. It should help you get started…”

Élise breaks into a large grin, her eyes wide open in delight. “How much do I owe you?” she says as she runs her fingers along the spines of the books: alphabet books and counting books, from simple to more complex. Exactly what she wanted and needed so desperately.

“Tsk, tsk,” Marcera dismisses. “You owe me nothing. And if you promise me to keep things quiet, I might have more books for you, books to read, which you can lend to your… pupils.”

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” Élise says with emotion: her clandestine school was becoming a reality. _We need a safe place to meet, perhaps next summer I could ask Arno to build us a small shed where I could put a large table and some chairs, like a proper classroom..._

“Is Francis with Arno?” Marcera asks out of the blue, pulling Élise out of her musings.

“I would think so. Your son has taken quite a liking in training with him. And Arno told me the other day he thought Francis was quite talented!”

“Really? That's… good to hear,” Marcera says, raising an eyebrow in honest surprise. “It wasn't my idea to let him play with swords, but his father agreed to it. Fabian said that after sending his older sons to school in the hope they would follow in his footsteps, he might as well enroll his youngest in the army to protect the family. Or something like that.” She shakes her head, disagreement written all over her face. Her youngest was becoming a man, but she could never imagine him holding a sword or a musket. No, not her clever, bustling little boy. Fabian had other views on the matter, especially since Weatherall’s visit and the revelations about Élise’s Templar identity. What if their own past ever caught up up with them? Their oldest sons never learned how to defend themselves, neither did Clara. Why not Francis? He’s young, he’s able-bodied... “Well, send him home when you see him. I have chores for him around the house,” she adds, a note of sourness in her voice. She brings her tea to her lips to hide her scowl.

“I will,” Élise says before finishing her cup of tea and getting off her chair. She couldn’t wait to get home and flip through the pages of books, to prepare her next lesson. “Thank you again, Marcera. These will be very helpful.”

* * *

**1 January, 1797**

This year’s New Year celebration was a family event, as Élise wanted it. They played with the children after a winter picnic in front of the fireplace. There were kisses, and cuddles, and giggles, and the twins crawling, and Julie running. Worn out, the babies fell asleep in Élise’s arms after being fed, while Julie snuggled in her father’s arms, falling asleep sucking on her thumb, to her parents’ chagrin. Arno tried to pull her thumb out of her mouth, but even in her sleep, the little girl resisted.

“Now, _this_ is the life,” Arno says softly as he gently strokes his daughter’s back. There's an empty bottle of wine between him and Élise, his heart is warm, and his mind is at ease. _This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of_ , he thinks to himself. _Élise as my wife, with our children, safe and sound, in our own home. Our wounds are healing. Another year of freedom, another year of peace. To many, many more..._

“The children are so adorable when they sleep,” Élise comments, looking down at the snoozing little boys in her arms.

“When they sleep, yes,” he chuckles. “The house is suddenly so quiet!”

“Look how Charles is making himself comfortable, taking all the space. Poor François! He's a shy little one, this one. A bit like Julie. Do you think he'll be… like her?” she asks, turning her head to search Arno’s gaze for reassurance.

He frowns and shrugs, glancing at his sons, and then reaches with his hand to caress their heads, Charles first, then François. “Neither seems to be bothered by loud sounds, but François is calmly observing things around him before making decisions. Like Julie, indeed. Or me, for that matter.”

“Charles is more like me, a brash little boy who goes after everything without a second of hesitation!” she says with a proud smile, pressing her lips on her boy’s head, savoring his baby smell.

“Maybe we have our answer there!”

“My love, I have to ask you again, as I did last year, and the year before: are you happy?” she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes as she meets his warm gaze.

“I’ve never been happier,” he assures with a large grin. “Are _you_ happy?”

It had been a difficult year, with a risky pregnancy, and the added challenge of raising twins alongside a young toddler.

A wave of nausea grips her as she recalls standing at the edge of the cliff in the middle of a storm, just over a year ago, ready to end her life and her unborn babies’ lives. _A fool. I was a fool._

She never imagined her heart could hold so much love and that she was capable of giving so much love, nor did she ever imagine that she could receive so much love and gratification in return. Was she made to become a mother after all, despite never envisioning having children? This question still haunted her, whenever she tried to make sense of her suddenly changing visions.

Yes, she was happy. She was happy to be alive.

She nods, then smiles. “Yes, I am. I still don’t have a present for you, this year…” she says, sheepishly biting her lower lip. Earlier that morning, he offered her a set of writing slates with pencils, essential learning tools for her pupils, with paper being scarce and expensive. She was beaming, and in her excitement, she almost dropped the slates on the floor.

“We’re holding my presents in our arms,” Arno says, smiling affectionately at his sleeping sons, and then at his slumbering daughter.

“There’s always me…” Élise murmurs. Her heartbeat accelerates. There had been plenty of _almosts_ and _not yets_ the past months, and too many nights with broken sleep and days filled with hard work, with too little time or energy left to be intimate beyond tender kisses and warm embraces. _But tonight, if we make an effort..._

“You said that last year,” he says with a half-smile, as to shield himself from disappointment.

“And you actually refused my present!” she teases with a smirk. “Monsieur Dorian was too tired. Is Monsieur Dorian still tired?”

“I’m more tired than last year!” he says with a laugh, shaking his head pitifully. He then turns his head towards her, looking into her green eyes, the light of the fire adding a golden glow to them. Or was it that they were burning with desire, as intensely as his own were? “How can I refuse such a generous present, this year…?” he murmurs, placing his hand on her thigh, stroking it with his thumb. She quivers under his gentle touch, and she is yearning for more.

“Let’s put the children to bed,” she says, exhaling softly. _Yes, tonight..._

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom,” he says before helping her up to her feet.

* * *

The twins are sleeping in their special double-sized crib made and offered by Francis the week before, as a token of gratitude for Arno’s time and teachings. Élise’s heart was breaking each time she’d have to put her baby boys down to sleep in separate beds, convinced keeping them together from a young age would contribute to their bonding, all in the hope of avoiding the dreaded conflict as they grow older. After getting the new crib, one morning she found them sleeping at opposite ends. The morning after, she found them huddled close together, to her relief. _This might work..._

As she watches her boys sleeping, Élise stands by the window, hairbrush in hand. From the doorway, after singing Julie to sleep, Arno watches her with curiosity as she carefully slides the brush through her tangled curls.

“What are you looking at?” she says, finally noticing his presence several minutes later. _Always sneaking up on me!_ she groans internally.

“I’m sorry, you looked… beautiful,” he says with a loving smile.

“Yes, beautiful, of course,” she snorts. “My chemise has more holes than a moth-infested blanket, and it’s covered with milk stains. Your sons are eating like little piglets, let me tell you!”

“I don’t see the holes or the stains,” he says as he walks slowly towards her. “All I see is my beautiful wife, with her lovely red hair, shining under the moonlight. My beautiful wife, once the bewitching girl I fell in love with, and now the gorgeous mother she became, who I love more than ever.”

“Charmer!” she says, continuing the careful brushing of her hair.

“Can’t I simply admire my wife? Long ago, when I saw you again after all this time apart, the night your father…” He pauses, swallowing back the painful memories. “I was already dreaming of making you my wife, but God knows I could never muster the courage to ask you to marry me.”

She looks up to meet his deep brown eyes. They were filled with love, and an adorable tinge of shyness. “Afraid I’d say no?” she asks before putting the brush aside on her night table.

“There was no place for me in that head of yours,” he says, smiling wistfully. “It was already full with duties, and adventures...”

She steps closer and reaches to cup his face between her hands. “Shhhhhhh my love. Let’s not talk about the past. I don’t want to talk about the past, not today, not now,” she whispers, holding his gaze.

“I love you…” he murmurs, coiling his arms around her back to pull her close, and kiss her inviting plump lips.

She presses herself against him, her hands in his hair, and he kisses her deeper and harder, letting out a low growl in her mouth.

She chuckles, tearing her lips from his. “That growl…”

“What?” he asks, his mind drunk from their kiss.

“That little growl you make, when you kiss me…”

“What about it?”

“That’s when I know you want me…”

His hands slide to her lower back, and he pulls her even closer, his erection pressing against her stomach. “Isn’t it obvious…?”

“It is...“ she chuckles, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he adds quickly while pulling away from her, concerned about pressuring her into something she wasn’t ready for. Too many times before they changed their minds at the last minute, and he had no reason to think today would be any different.

“I want to be your lover again, not just the mother of your children,” she says with a reassuring smile.

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he continues, shaking his head and pulling further away.

She frowns, his hesitation leaving her dumbfounded and confused. “You don’t want me?”

“I believe _you_ said I wanted you,” he says with a coy smile. “But the real question here is: do _you_ want _me_?”

She returns his smile, stepping closer and arching her body onto his. Standing on her toes, she runs her hands along his arms, her fingers languidly following the curves of his muscles, until they reach his broad shoulders, and nestle at the nape of his neck. “My Arno, my love, my dark and handsome Arno,” she murmurs in his ear. “My darling, insecure Arno. Of course I want you. Kiss me. Please.”

Their lips lock in a passionate frenzy, and a flurry of hands move quickly as they undress each other. Then, he sits down on the bed and she crawls over to him to climb on his lap, straddling him. His hands slide to her hips, his thumbs coming to rest on her hip bones. A shiver runs through his body.

“You’re trembling, are you nervous?” she asks with a smirk, trailing her fingers across his stomach and his chest, tracing the outline of his scars. Her smirk widens as she feels him shiver once more under her feather-like touch.

“It’s been too long…” he admits in a low voice before claiming her lips with his own.

She tilts her hips forward and he slides inside her in one smooth thrust, making them both groan in pleasure. They move together, moan together, and breathe together, their lips parting from each other for an instant to catch their breaths, only to meet again, their tongues rolling.

She arches her neck as his lips slide down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her flesh, his lips and his tongue tasting her skin. Sinking her fingers into the thickness of his hair, she clings to his head, demanding more.

His hand cups and kneads her heavy and rounded breast, and at the first touch of his full lips on her nipple, she nearly loses her mind.

“Arno, stop,” she cries out, stunned by the intense wave of arousal resulting from the sucking pressure applied to one nipple, and then the other.

"I love big breasts, I cannot lie," he says, his tone deep with lust as he continues to greedily suckle at her breasts, while his other hand grips her arse.

“Oh God, no, Arno, _don’t_ _stop_ ,” she moans with a strangled cry, clawing at his scalp and rocking her hips back and forth against his. She knew her breasts were sensitive, but never before has she felt such pleasure from his hungry mouth. The sensations are so intense that they promptly blend together into an exquisite, rippling orgasm. Taken aback by the sudden tightening of her walls around his cock, and her milk flowing into his mouth, he releases himself inside her with a frustrated groan.

“What was _that_?” he says with a laugh after emptying his mouth and reluctantly letting go of her nipple.

“ _That_ was me... coming very fast… and very hard…” she breathes with a blissful smile.

“You leaked milk... in my mouth, _and_ on me...” he chuckles, looking down at the thin dribbles of milk running down his shoulder and his chest.

“And you swallowed it all, I'm impressed,” she teases, wiping the milk off his body and her own with a corner of the sheets. _I’ll have to change these tomorrow morning_. “I believe I’m not the only one who leaked,” she adds, cocking her head in a mocking way.

His smile fades. “I’m sorry, believe me, I tried not to…” he says, a contrite look on his face.

“Of course you tried. Let’s pray I don’t get pregnant. I haven’t bled yet, I suppose this means my body is not ready to make a baby. Honestly, I really don’t know how it all works. Nobody ever explained it to me. I know how to rule the Templars, but i have no idea how my own body works. I suppose I’ll have to speak to Clara about this, she must know,” she says as she climbs off his lap and lies next to him, while he scoots down the bed to face her, and pulls the covers over them.

“As much as I’d love to fill this house with babies, let’s take our time, this time…”

“A winter without being pregnant, I almost forgot what it felt like!”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, tousled hair spread over their pillows, beaming content smiles at one another.

“I’ve missed you,” he says softly, never swaying his gaze from hers.

“I’ve missed you too. We are forgetting each other, aren't we?” she murmurs, reaching to brush a strand of hair away from his eye, her fingertips lingering for a second or two over his scar. From time to time, she would try to remember what he looked like without it – in a distant past, before fate marked him for life. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t. This scar was an integral part of the Arno she loved so deeply, for everything that he was, and she couldn’t imagine him looking any other way anymore.

“You look tired,” he says, bringing her wandering mind back to the present.

“I _am_ tired,” she says with a quiet laugh. “We should probably sleep.”

He nods. “We should. The children will wake us up at an ungodly hour again tomorrow...”

She rolls to the other side and he spoons her, his arm draped over her waist.

“Sleep well, my love,” she says with a sigh.

“Sleep well, my ravishing, stunning, marvelous wife,” he whispers in her ear.

She chuckles, gently swatting his head away from her ear. “Arno, shut up.”

“Happy New Year!” he murmurs as he buries his nose in her hair. They smelled of honey and rosemary, like the taste of her skin. The room around them was cold, but their bodies were a comfortable muddle under the warm covers.

“Happy New Year!” she mumbles, tiredness gradually taking over and pulling her into a deep sleep.

* * *

**10 March, 1797**

Élise shudders as she enters the barn. It was a freezing and damp morning, and fog was hanging low in the valley between the mountains. She wasn’t looking forward to walking to the market later today. Spring and warmth couldn’t return soon enough after what felt like a long and dreary winter. She was holding Julie’s hand, the little girl’s red curls bouncing up and down with every step.

“Arno? Are you here?” Élise calls. “Julie wants to see the new babies!”

“Beebies! Wanna see beebies!” Julie says loudly.

“Yes, I was just cleaning the stalls,” Arno says as he emerges from behind a dividing wall. “They are right over here!”

Elise scoops Julie into her arms, and follows Arno to another pen at the back of the barn, away from the draft that would undoubtedly enter as the door opens.

“Mama! Beebies!” Julie squeals as she sees the newborn kids of a few days with their mothers. She squirms in Élise’s arms, trying to free herself.

“Yes, yes, you can go see the babies, Mademoiselle Impatient!” Élise chuckles as she puts her down on the other side of the fence, next to Arno. And as eager as she was to see the baby goats just a few seconds ago, Julie freezes as one approaches her, and she lets out a nervous whimper.

“Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you!” Arno says encouragingly, crouching next to his daughter. To illustrate his words, he reaches to gently stroke the kid’s head and back. “See?”

“Beebies goats!” she exclaims, looking around in the pen and pointing at the other kids.

Leaning on the fence, Élise watches with amusement. “Baby goats are called kids. Can you say this word, Julie? Kids?” she asks.

“Kitz!” Julie says proudly.

“Good job! Stay with papa, Julie! Give me your hand!” Arno says, catching his daughter by the hand at the last second before she hops after the kid, who decided to return to his mother. The last thing he wanted was to see his daughter trampled by a horde of tiny hooves.

“The children are lucky to grow up surrounded by all the animals, I would have loved to be in their place!” Élise comments, thinking back of her dog, and the horses, she grew up with, and how she missed them when she was away at her Palais de la Misère.

“Watch out, I bet she’ll ask for a pony later!” Arno says with a laugh. He was still firmly holding Julie’s hand, letting her observe the goats in the pen from a safe distance, ready to intervene if needed.

“Oh, it wouldn’t surprise me at all!”

“Speaking of babies and animals, the family is about to expand some more!” With his free hand, he points at the opposite corner of the barn.

“Mademoiselle Moustache is having kittens?” Élise exclaims. She steps closer and kneels in front of the cat’s nest of blankets. In it, Mademoiselle Moustache was lying on her side, unmistakably pregnant. “Oh dear me, yes! You are so big, my poor girl! And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t even notice until recently!” Arno says with a shrug. “You know how she’s always out and about, disappearing for days at a time. She’s been spending a lot of time in the barn the last couple of days, rearranging her sleeping place. I think the kittens are coming very soon.”

“Come and look, Julie! Mademoiselle Moustache is expecting babies, too!” Élise says as she gently pets the purring cat’s head.

Arno leads Julie out of the pen, closing the door behind them with precaution. _We certainly don’t want any of you to escape!_

“Beebies cat!” Julie says as she comes to take a closer look.

“Yes, baby cats,” Élise says. “Baby cats are called kittens. They are in her belly, just like when your baby brothers were in mama’s belly. Do you remember mama's big belly?”

Julie nods. “Kittens!” she repeats with a giggle, before running back to her father.

“Well, this means only Brioche and myself aren’t pregnant or giving birth this spring!” Élise says as she carefully gets up to her feet, brushing the dirt and straw off her skirts. She grew accustomed to wearing dresses in the winter, the many layers of skirts and petticoats proving more effective in keeping her warm than breeches. _One more reason to look forward to the summer – no more dresses!_

“For now…” Arno says.

“What? Is Brioche pregnant too?” she asks, a bewildered look on her face.

He shakes his head. “Not from what I can tell. She looked like her normal self this morning when she took the herd to their pasture. But who knows what could happen! It’s not like we can really control that…”

“We can barely keep ourselves under control…”

“We are so far, aren’t we?”

“So far, yes…” She presses her legs together, as if suddenly remembering the bloody bundle of rags between them. No, she wasn’t pregnant, the return of her monthly bleedings in January, and the months that followed, painfully confirming this fact. Yet, she had welcomed them with a sigh of relief each time. She wasn't against expanding their little family, but she needed to breathe. “Arno, can I ask you a very big favor?” she asks hesitantly, biting her lip.

“I knew this visit wasn’t just about Julie wanting to see the new kids,” he says with a smirk, lifting Julie into his arms. “What can I do for you?”

“As you know, I have three pupils now, with Sophie from behind the bakery joining recently, and we’re always meeting in our house. Keeping in mind that we have to be careful, I thought it would be wonderful to have our own little secret meeting place, away from our house. Some sort of a classroom.”

“This sounds like a good idea. However, if you are thinking about renting a room somewhere in town, people are bound to get nosy, and you will get into trouble -- all of you, all of us,” he says with a deep frown of concern.

“Actually, I was hoping you would build one for me, on an unoccupied piece of our land?”

He bursts out in laughter. “Build it? Build you a... school?”

“Nothing big,” she retorts defensively. “Enough for a table and some chairs, and bookcases, too. And a bit of space for the children to play. From the outside, it could look like your average farming tool shed, but on the inside…”

“I’m not a carpenter or a mason, Élise,” he interrupts. “I can do repairs, but to build something from the ground up… That's too difficult.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, I know what you can do. You are great at working with your hands. Ask Francis for help, I’m sure he will have expert advice for you,” she suggests. She looks into his eyes, pursing her lips into a pout. “Please?”

He rolls his eyes at her flattery. _You know I can’t resist your pouty lips?_ “Alright, I will give it a try,” he groans. “But I can't promise it will be finished before the summer. Maybe only after…”

She claps her hands in glee. “Use the money from the estate’s sale to purchase good quality materials. And take your time. It needs to be solid and last for decades!”

“Will you help papa build a school for mama, Julie?” he asks his daughter.

“Yeah!” the little girl replies, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s time to wake your brothers from their nap,” Élise says, holding her arms out. She takes Julie from Arno’s arms into hers.

“No! Goats! Wanna see beebies!” Julie whines, squirming and kicking with her little feet.

“We’ll come back tomorrow, I promise!” Élise says, trying to appease her daughter’s growing frustration. “And we’ll come with your brothers, you can show them how a big girl you are by petting the goats! They are too small to do that, but you’re a big girl and _you_ can! How about that?”

Julie whines and kicks some more, until her mother’s words finally sink in, and she calms down to a quiet whimper and a pouty lip.

“Tantrum avoided. That was a close call,” Élise murmurs, breathing out a loud sigh.

“There’s this saying, something about an apple falling and a tree…” Arno teases with squinted eyes, mockingly scratching his head as if trying to remember the words.

“She takes after you, too! Never forget that!” she grumbles, poking him on the shoulder with her finger.

* * *

**30 March, 1797**

Arno wakes up suddenly, his heart beating fast in his chest, and tears running down his cheeks. It had been more than a year since he had the same recurring nightmare, where he sees himself as a little boy endlessly chasing after his mother. Her face is blurred and her figure is ghost-like, the memory of her almost gone from his mind. Yet, the gaping hole in his heart is painful as ever. _Why now? Why tonight? I was doing just fine without you coming to haunt me again..._

He sits in bed, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. Next to him, Élise is sound asleep and hugging the bed covers. He leans over to place a soft kiss on her shoulder, and she shifts a little in her sleep. He is craving the warmth of her arms around him for comfort, but he can’t bring himself to wake her up.

With a sigh, he slips out of bed and gets dressed. His watch tells him it’s only 2 a.m. Before leaving the room, he takes a few moments to watch his boys sleep. He knows they would wake up soon, and like every night, he would bring them to Élise. They’d both doze off while the twins are suckling. Then, when they are done, she’d wake him up and he’d bring them back to their crib for the rest of the night. Such was their teamwork nighly routine for the last couple of years, since Julie was born.

He stops by Julie’s room on his way downstairs. His daughter was – thankfully – sleeping peacefully tonight. _Nightmares run in the family, so it seems. How did my parents deal with my terrors?_ he often wondered. By lack of guidance, he could only do what his instinct was dictating: reassure her, hold her. Be there for her. Night after night.  

> _Being a father is exhausting_ , he thinks to himself with a chuckle as he sits down at his desk in the study. He pushes the accounting book aside and pulls his notebook from under a pile of other papers.
> 
> _Dear Papa,_
> 
> _I dreamt of Mama again, the same dream that has been haunting me for years and years. What on Earth could you have done to cause her to leave us? What on Earth_ could I have done _to cause her to leave us? I was just a boy… Being a parent is no walk in the park, I am discovering. Still and all, I cannot see myself abandoning my children,_ ever _. They are my flesh and blood – born from Élise’s womb, yes – but they are mine, they are a part of me._
> 
> _I see no other way out of the grip of this nightmare than finding answers. I wish there was a simpler way, as I don't even know where to begin. I know nothing of Mama. I don’t even know where she is from, I only know her name. I don’t know her family – my family. I can barely remember what she looked like. Sometimes, I think Élise reminds me of her. This might explain a few things… But I digress._
> 
> _Help me, guide me. Send me a sign, steer me in the right direction. I need to know. I need to sleep again._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Arno_

He barely has time to let the ink dry as he hears Charles and François crying upstairs.

“Time to be a father again, Arno,” he mumbles with a smile.

* * *

**12 April, 1797**

The second Élise is back from the market, she kicks off her shoes, sends the children to play, and hurries to bake a cake. Her pupils will knock on her door in a couple of hours, and she has no time to waste. The lessons continued to be held in her house, as Arno hadn’t made the tiniest of dents in the building of the classroom shed. The materials needed were not even purchased yet. He looked preoccupied of late, as if he was brooding over something, and she knew it was better to not press him and give him space. She trusted he would come to her if he needed her help, or felt ready to talk. _At least he's not drinking…_ she sighs, shaking her head. His behavior was worrying her, but she had other things on her mind herself.

Baking a cake with three young and curious children is never easy task. There’s the danger coming from the fire in the hearth, and there seems to always be a child standing or crawling in her way whenever she is moving around the table. Marianne had been seeing a young man her age since the New Year, and there were talks of marriage already. Now that the twins were almost a year old and demanded less frequent feedings – and less of Élise’s idle time – they agreed she would only come to help occasionally. She had her young life to live, after all.

But there are days when Élise wished she could count on her to keep the children busy while she works around the house. Like today. There was the cake, the lessons, the garden, the mountain of dirty diapers and clothes, the kittens, the mess in the house, her training, the evening's meal to prepare… And above all, she had to make time to play with the children, make time for Arno, and eventually, if there were a few minutes left in the day, make time for herself. _Breathe, Élise. Breathe._

As she begins mixing the ingredients in the bowl, she hears a discreet knock at the door.

“Julie, wait for me!” she calls while cleaning her floury hands with her apron, seeing her daughter already running towards the door. _Mademoiselle Impatient!_

Next to her, François is holding his hands up, wanting to be picked up. With a sigh, she scoops him into her arms, and she finally walks to open the door, the quiet knocks now louder. Charles is following her crawling on hands and knees.

On the other side of the door, she finds a middle-aged woman holding two small bags. Her hair, once blonde, Élise assumes, is streaked with grey. She is hiding her emaciated figure with a dull, loose grey dress, and from what Élise can tell, she has been crying. Her blue eyes are puffy and red. Her traits seem uncannily familiar, but Élise doesn't remember ever crossing path with this woman before. Or has she? Perhaps earlier today at the market, a face in the crowd...

“Can I help you?” Élise asks, giving the woman her warmest smile. It had been a while since they welcomed anyone at the guest house, and this woman was clearly in dire need of a solid meal, and a shelter. The cake would have to wait; her pupils certainly wouldn't mind, they'd praise her benevolence instead, and offer to help. _Bless their hearts._

“You, you must be Élise,” the stranger says in a low, husky voice, returning Élise’s smile.

Élise frowns. She can’t quite place the woman’s accent, and it’s not exactly every day that someone from out of town shows up at her door, calling her by her first name. “Yes, yes, I am. Who gave you my name?”

“In town, the people…” The stranger’s weary eyes light up as she sees François in Élise’s arms. She then notices Julie standing next to her mother, and Charles sitting on the floor on the other side. “You have such cute children, those big brown eyes,” she says, her voice strangled by emotion.

“Thank you,” Élise says, raising an eyebrow in surprise at the stranger’s reaction. _Perhaps she lost a child before. It must be terrible to lose a child._ “Are you looking for a shelter? The people in town sent you here? Charles, stop pulling on my apron!” she says impatiently. Her son was trying to rise to his little feet by holding himself on her apron, but he fell back on his bum with a thump.

“Charles…” the stranger murmurs almost inaudibly. Suddenly, she feels the blood drain from her face and she grows extremely weak, letting go of her bags.

“Madame, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Élise says, putting her free arm under her elbow to support her. “Come in, I’ll prepare you a cup of tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”

The stranger takes several deep breaths, and color gradually comes back to her cheeks. “Tea is fine, thank you.”

Inside, Élise helps the woman sit down at the kitchen table, puts her bags away near the entrance, and sends the children to play in the sitting room, before busying herself at making tea for them both.

“You are so kind, and you are so very beautiful,” the woman says with a faint smile, staring at Élise and studying her every trait.

Turning her face away from the stranger, Élise frowns once more. _This conversation is taking a bizarre turn._ “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name,” she says inquisitively, turning her head back to meet the woman’s gaze, holding it for several long seconds.

“Maria. My name is Maria.” The woman coughs nervously to clear her throat from the lump that was strangling her voice. “My name is Marie Dorian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a year and a half of planning, planting clues, plotting... FINALLY!
> 
> I know there are several theories about Arno's mother disappearance... The following chapters will contain my own theory. You don't have to agree with it ;-)


	26. A Mother's Plea

**12 April, 1797 (continued)**

The porcelain teacup Élise was holding falls from her trembling hands, shattering in small pieces and spreading its hot content on the floor. Élise drops to her knees to pick up the pieces of the broken teacup, while trying to keep the children away from the hot tea and the porcelain shards. She sends them to play somewhere else, the alarmed children obeying immediately to their mother’s harsh tone.

Maria gets off her chair to help, but Élise holds her arm to stop her, offering her an infuriated scowl in return.

“I imagine it's quite a shock,” Maria says with a faint, uneasy smile.

“I never thought you'd have the nerve to show up on our doorstep,” Élise hisses. “How did you find us? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know, I don't need to know. I'm not the one who needs to know,” she says as she continues to gather the last pieces of broken porcelain, and wipes the hot tea from the floor as best she can with her apron.

“Arno… “

“Yes, Arno,” Élise barks, getting up to her feet and glaring back at the stranger sitting at her table. “The boy you abandoned, the boy who was an orphan by age 8, the boy who convinced himself you were dead because he couldn’t stand the reality of having been abandoned. Why did you come back? To reopen his wounds? Didn’t you hurt him enough already?”

“I will explain everything…” Maria says, her voice trembling. She expected nothing else than a less-than-warm welcome. Back in Paris, they had warned her about Élise – about her temper, and how protective she was of Arno. “She will defend him tooth and nail, and she will not hesitate a single second to give her life for him,” they said. “If you want to get to Arno, you’ll have to go through her, first.” _I see what they meant, now_ , she thinks to herself, rather amused by the barefoot redhead wearing men's breeches under her embroidered apron. Her son’s wife was nothing like she had imagined. At the same time, she was also finding comfort in knowing Arno had found a beautiful wife who gave him the most adorable children, and who loved him the way she knew he deserved. _For all the love I never gave him._

“Don't waste your breath on me. I am not the one who needs to hear it,” Élise spits as she walks back to the counter, broken teacup in hands.

“I’m dying,” Maria admits with a sigh. “The doctors said I only have a few months left to live. _Krebs_ , what's the French word… cancer?”

Élise blinks slowly, carefully putting the broken teacup on the counter, before turning her head towards Maria, staring at her with squinted eyes. “And you wasted a month looking for the son you so cowardly abandoned? Why? Remorse? Looking for absolution of your motherly sins?”

Maria holds Élise’s cutting gaze, the admission of her illness bringing her renewed courage to face her daughter-in-law’s wrath. “I can never erase what I've done, I'm not even hoping for forgiveness,” she says firmly and with assurance. “I have been a terrible mother to Arno, and God is punishing me for what I did to my son. The tumor is growing in my womb, it’s a sign, it cannot be anything else. And may God have an ounce of mercy when I leave this world for good. You have children of your own, I’m sure you’ll understand I will never find peace until I speak to my son. I owe him answers before it’s too late, and I’m running out of time. Please, I beg of you...”

Élise winces and closes her eyes, Maria’s words hitting home. Loathing and hatred are still pumping hard in her veins, but she concedes she has to put her own feelings aside, as this is Arno’s one and only chance at solace. _Be the better person, do this for Arno, he deserves to know. You don’t have to become friends with her, but you must give her a chance._

“Madame Dorian…” Élise begins, her tone mellowed. She can’t help but smile at the sound of her own words. _Madame Dorian. Isn’t this my name, too?_

“Please, call me Maria. No one has called me by my married name since, I left...”

 _Wasn't her name Marie?_ “Maria, I love Arno with all my heart, and for his sake…” She pauses and heaves a deep sigh before she looks back into the older woman’s weary eyes, and keeps on. “I suppose I can’t deny him the opportunity to get the answers he needs to finally move on.”

Maria nods, a faint smile etching on her lips. “You have every right to be angry at me, to resent me. To hate me, even. And I expect nothing different from Arno.”

Élise prepares another cup of tea in silence, her mind reeling. _What am I going to tell Arno? How is he going to react? What should I tell the children for now? Should I introduce her as their grandmother? No, not yet. Julie could talk and spoil the surprise before I have the chance to speak to Arno. I can’t have that happen. I need to prepare Arno first. How on Earth am I going to this?_

“Who dis, mama?” Julie asks, pulling on Élise’s skirt and pulling her out of her deep thoughts at the same time.

Élise looks down at her daughter, who is staring at her mother, and then at Maria, with a little inquisitive brow.

“This woman’s name is Maria,” she says as she picks up her daughter into her arms. “She comes from a country far away, over the mountains. She speaks German, too.” Holding Julie on her hip, she walks to the table, cup of tea in hand. She puts the cup on the table in front of Maria, and sits down at the table, settling Julie on her lap. “This is Julie, our oldest, a joyous mix of both of us. She’ll be 2 years old next week. You can speak a few words of German, right Julie Bunny? Sing the lullaby your papa is always singing to you!”

“Shlaf, Kintlin, shlaf,” Julie sings proudly. She learned the words by ear, but stumbles and hums the melody as she suddenly can’t remember them. “Tram’l’in… Shlaf, Kintlin, shlaf.”

Maria grins from ear to ear, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I used to sing this to him all the time to soothe him. I’m amazed he even remembers it!” She reaches to take Julie’s hand, and the little girl giggles. “Meine schöne Enkelin _[My beautiful granddaughter]_.”

“And the two little rats over there are Charles and François, just 10 months old,” Élise adds with a smile, pointing at the twins who are oblivious to the brouhaha around them, deeply absorbed in their conversation of lively cooing, babbling, and repeated monosyllables. “Charles is my adventurous outgoing baby, and François is my shy little boy. They are inseparable.”

“You have twins! My mother had a twin sister, it runs in the family,” Maria says, looking over at the babies playing together, her eyes constantly jumping from one to the other, taking in the resemblance with Arno when he was their age. “When you opened the door and I saw their little faces, I was instantly transported back to when Arno was a baby. They are his spitting image, it’s incredible. My poor, tormented baby...” Her voice breaks off, strangled by a sob. She looks down at her hands on her lap, swallowing the tears she was refusing to shed, fighting to keep her composure.

Élise frowns, puzzled by Maria’s words. _Tormented baby?_ “Maria, I have no doubt you are impatient to see Arno, but I might need a day or two to prepare him, to find the right moment, if that’s even possible,” Élise says after a long pause. “In the meantime I can offer you shelter in our guesthouse, it’s a little way away from here. If I tell Arno that our guest wants privacy due to her weak physical condition, I know he’ll respect this wish and not ask any questions. He’s spending most of his day working on the farm anyway, welcoming guests is almost exclusively my work.”

Maria looks up to meet Élise’s gaze, and to her relief, she sees kindness and sympathy. “That’s very thoughtful and kind of you. I am grateful you haven’t slammed the door in my face,” she says, letting out a loud breath followed by a bitter chuckle.

“Believe me, I wanted to. And I still want to,” Élise says calmly, her sharper tone a reminder that the earlier animosity has only been put aside. “For all the pain you have caused him when you left, and all the pain you are still causing him to this day. And for all the pain _I have suffered_ because of all the pain you caused him.” She can feel a twitch on her cheek where his hand had struck her, and a tingle in her neck where he sunk his teeth. “Your son is like volcano, Maria,” she continues. “On the surface, everything is calm and peaceful. Once in a while, he lets out a bit steam; people get hurt, and then things go back to how they were. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before he erupts and destroys everything around him, including himself...”

Maria’s heart sinks, realizing the extent of the damage she has caused – with repercussions not only for Arno, but for Élise as well. _And God forbid for the children, too._ “I’m so sorry, if I could turn back time,” she says in a trembling voice, fully aware her words will never erase her mistakes.

They are startled by a knock on the door. _The lessons! THE CAKE!_

“Excuse me, this must be my pupils,” Élise says quickly as she gets off her chair and puts Julie down, before she hurries to the door.

“Good afternoon, Henriette! You’re early,” she says, with a forced enthusiastic smile. This smile fades as she notices Henriette is alone with Antoine. “Sophie is not with you…?”

“No, she… she _can’t come_ ,” Henriette replies with a knowing stare.

“Right, I see…” Élise says, a note of resigned disappointment in her voice. “We can talk about this later. Can I ask you to watch my children for a little while? I have to show our guest the way to the shelter, she traveled a long way and she needs to rest. I won’t be very long.”

Henriette nods reassuringly. “Not a problem! I’ll open for Claudine when she arrives, and we’ll study together until you come back. You can go play with Julie, Antoine!” she adds, giving her son an encouraging push. With his mother’s permission, the toddler runs passed Élise to find his playmate waiting for him in the sitting room.

“That’s perfect,” Élise says, stepping aside to let her friend in, and following her to the kitchen table. “Let me take your bags,” Élise says as she picks Maria’s bags from the floor, and gives her arm for support. “I will bring you something to eat and drink once you're settled in.”

“That would be lovely,” Maria says. She looks at Élise, with eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Élise attempts a faint smile, bearing at once the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Don’t thank me yet.”

* * *

After settling Maria in comfortably in the guesthouse, and even helping her climb in bed for a long-deserved nap after a tiring day of traveling, Élise rushes back home. She is late for their lesson, and she is making an effort to recall what she had planned for the day, but her mind is blank.

”My apologies for the delay, Mesdames,” she says as she gathers the slates and books needed for the lesson, trying to catch her breath. She then sits at the table and distributes the slates to Henriette and Claudine. ”The thing with travelers looking for shelter is that they usually come unannounced! I meant to bake a cake for you, but I never got very far...”

“It's quite alright,” Claudine says with a laugh. “We can also leave, if you are too busy. You look quite upset, too.”

 _Am I such an open book?_ Élise wonders. _Of course I’m upset. My mother-in-law showing up on my doorstep 25 years after she abandoned her son is reasons enough to be upset. Concentrate, Élise! Concentrate!_ “No, no, no!” Élise insists. “I'm here for you. And we still have time. Did you review the list of words I gave you?”

“Élise… About Sophie…” Henriette begins hesitantly.

Élise looks down and breathes out a deep sigh, before looking at Henriette. “She… _can't come_ , you said? Did her husband find out? Please tell me she's OK!”

Henriette nods. “She's safe, don’t worry. And her daughter is safe, too. Her husband caught her memorizing her addition table. I saw her this morning on my way to the bakery, she said he wasn't _really_ mad at her, but… I'm sure you'll understand she's too scared to continue.”

“I do,” Élise says with a nod, even though the injustice of the situation was feeding the fire inside her. “It's a shame, she was enjoying it so much.” She turns her gaze to Claudine. “Are you scared?”

“I'd be lying if is said I wasn't,” Claudine says, shaking her head. “Of course I'm scared. I'm not scared of my husband getting mad at me, though. I'm more scared he'll laugh at me, and say I'm too stupid to go to school...”

“You're not stupid!’ Élise objects, gasping in indignation. _The women lack such self-confidence, it’s appalling. All the men’s work, undermining their wives’ value. Time to teach these women to believe in themselves, too!_ “Look at everything you've learned in just a few months! If he ever calls you stupid, just ask him to recite a multiplication table. Or to write you a flawless letter. See if he can do that without a single mistake! What about you?” she asks Henriette, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm not scared,” Henriette shrugs with a chuckle. “My Joseph is a good man, I know he wouldn't lay a hand on me.”

“Good, good,” Élise says, satisfied and relieved, all at the same time.

“Mama, where’s Mawia?” Julie asks, looking at her mother with her finger in her mouth.

“She's taking a nap,” Élise replies with a large grin. “We'll go see her later, alright?”

The little girl nods. “Okay. Mawia nice…”

“You like her, don't you?” She ruffles her daughter’s hair, and the little girl nods again. “I think she likes you too.”

Appeased by the thought of seeing Maria again, Julie trots back to the corner of the sitting room to join the game of ball rolling.

“Is Maria the traveler? I know it's none of my business, but if I may, she looks too ill to be traveling,” Henriette comments, a worried look on her face.

“She has her reasons. I am not here to judge her, only to offer her shelter and sustenance until she feels strong enough to continue her journey.” _Listen to me lying_ , she thinks to herself, blushing in shame.

“If we can be of any help, let us know. Does she need anything?” Claudine asks, sharing her friend’s concerns for Élise’s guest.

“That's very kind of you to offer to help, I believe I’ll manage,” Élise says, touched by their benevolence. “Goodness, I believe we're almost out of time. I'm so sorry for wasting this lesson…”

“Don't apologize. It's nice sometimes to meet for a chat, too!” Henriette says with a smile.

The two pupils hide their books back at the bottom of their baskets, and call the children back, dismissing their grumbles of protest.

“Will I see you on Thursday?” Élise asks as she walks them back to the door.

“We'll be here, you can count on us,” Claudine says with a wink.

With her pupils and their children gone, Élise lets herself fall on the sofa with a plop, and stares at the ceiling. _What. A. Day._

“Mama! Mama!” two baby voices say from the floor. François and Charles are trying to pull themselves up to stand, their little hands gripping the edge of the cushion.

Élise chuckles. “Look at you both almost standing! And you must be hungry, too!” she coos. She bends to pick them up and sit them on her lap, and the babies greedily take the nipples she offers them. Julie climbs on the sofa to sit next to her mother, her pouty lip indicating she is unhappy to have lost her playmates again.

“Please Julie, no tears, no tantrum. I don’t think I can handle it,” Élise groans under her breath.

With the twins at her breasts, a sulking Julie curled up next to her, and while staring at the ceiling again, Élise’s mind wanders back to Maria. _How is Arno going to react? How can I best prepare him?_ The same questions are churning in her mind, and she feels a wave of panic rising from the pit of her stomach. _Oh God, why is this happening… What am I going to do?_

After letting them drink to their tummy’s content, Élise brings the twins upstairs for some quiet time in their crib.

“Come, Julie. We'll go check on Maria, to see if she is feeling a bit better,” Élise says to her daughter, who was following her every step. Back in the kitchen, she hands to Julie a small loaf of bread wrapped in a tea cloth. “Can you hold the bread all the way to the guesthouse without dropping it?”

Delighted to be granted such an important and grown-up responsibility, and excited to see Maria again, Julie nods with enthusiasm and gives her mother a large toothy smile. She follows Élise out of the house, keeping her eyes fixed on the precious bundle she was holding between her little hands.

“Do we have a guest?” Arno calls as he sees his wife and daughter walk passed the garden towards the path leading to the guesthouse.

Élise looks in his direction, startled. She puts her hand to her chest to keep her heart from bursting through, and thanks the heavens she didn’t drop the basket she was holding. “Arno! Aren't you… working?” _How long am I going to have to walk on eggshells?_

“Am I not allowed to take a break?” he chuckles. “I saw you escort someone to the guesthouse earlier, and I was just wondering who she was. It's been a while we had anyone!”

“Indeed!” she says quickly, wishing she was somewhere else, where she wouldn’t be forced to lie to Arno’s face so bluntly. “You see, this lady is gravely ill –”

“Why is she travelling instead of resting if she’s ill?” he asks with a frown of surprise.

 _Arno, don’t ask so many questions!_ “She wants to see her family before it's too late. But as you said, she needs to rest, and she decided to stay here until she feels strong enough to continue,” she explains, hoping the quaver in her voice wouldn’t betray her nerves.

“If she's planning to stay a few days, I should probably go introduce myself –”

“No!” Élise interrupts, her voice much louder than she intended. “No, she asked not to be disturbed,” she continues, struggling to regain her composure. “Julie and I are bringing her food, water and milk, and then we'll leave her to rest. Right, Julie?”

“Wanna see Mawia! Mawia nice, mama…” Julie says, never letting go of her loaf of bread.

“Her name is Maria?” Arno says, amused.

 _And this is exactly why I didn’t tell Julie that Maria was her grandmother. Children say the darndest things!_ “Yes, that's her name!” Élise says with a simpering smile. _I need to get out of here, and fast._ “Well, we should be on our way. Soup will be ready later! And since you have nothing to do, will you keep an eye on your sons while I’m away? The little critters are safe in their crib, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d try to climb out of it. I think they’ll be walking soon!”

“Alright, I will,” he says, shaking her head. “I love you!” he says, blowing her a kiss.

“I love you too!” Élise replies as she hurriedly makes her way to the guesthouse with Julie, without even looking back.

* * *

After an evening meal filled with long silences and idle talk, both parents preoccupied with worries of their own, the children were put to bed for the night, thankfully without a fuss.

“What a day, I’m exhausted…” Élise moans as she sits on the sofa next to Arno.

“Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let Marianne go,” he says as he slips his arm around her shoulder to pull her close to him. “You’re working yourself too hard with the children, the household, and your school.”

On any other day, she would revel in his warmth; but today, her heart is heavy with the secret she's hiding, and her mind is distracted. “You know I lost a pupil today? Sophie’s husband found out, and she decided not to come anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I know it means a lot to you,” he says sincerely.

“I still have two, I should be content, shouldn’t I?” she says, trying to convince herself that losing one pupil isn’t the beginning of the end for her clandestine school. “I’m still helping out two families. Two is better than none…” She lets out a deep sigh. “Do you want to come and sit in the garden with me? I need fresh air…”

Hand in hand, they enter the garden to sit at the small table. Darkness is falling around them, the only light coming from the kitchen window. “It had been a while!” he says as he slumps down on his chair to enjoy the crisp early spring evening.

“I love spring,” she says with a smile, breathing in the invigorating air. “Nature is waking up, everything feels fresh and new. Mothers giving birth to their babies...” Her last words make her cringe. _Mothers and babies? Really, Élise?_

“Are you nostalgic?” he teases, reaching to place his hand on her twice-pregnant belly.

“Sometimes,” she says with a chuckle, before placing her own hand over his hand. “The one thing about being pregnant I enjoy the most, and miss the most when I’m not, is feeling the baby move inside me. Even when it hurts! It’s almost magical.” She turns her head towards him to look into his dark eyes. By the creases on his forehead, she can tell his mind is distracted as well, despite him sitting relaxed on his chair. “Arno, are you alright? You’ve been brooding lately, I noticed…”

Abruptly, he sits up straight and pulls his hand away from her belly. “Is that why you invited me outside in the garden? To ask me how I was feeling?”  
“I can tell when something is bothering you. Can I help you with anything? Don’t shut me out, please,” she pleads, delicately running her fingers in his hair, just above his ear.

“I dreamt of my mother again…” he admits in a muttering voice.

“You… You have?” she stammers, swallowing hard and loud. She was happy – no, ecstatic! – he was opening up to her, but she certainly didn’t expect him to have dreamt about his mother. _This is too much of a coincidence..._

“That same dream where I’m endlessly chasing her. The last time I dreamt of her was after we fought. I thought I was over it, I thought I had forgiven myself, forgiven her…”

She continues to run her fingers in his hair as impassively as she can, but her heart is beating hard in her chest, and her hand is shaking. “And the dream is clearly upsetting you...”

“Part of me wants to know why she left. But part of me just wishes her to be dead and buried.” He looks down at his fidgeting hands. “The little boy in me wishes she would hold me and tell me she loves me just one more time, while the adult in me despises her and wants to kill her with my own bare hands...” He hissed the last words through clenched teeth, and folded his fingers into tight fists.  

The sudden change in his demeanor, from sorrow to anger, didn’t go unnoticed by Élise, and it was anything but reassuring to her. _Kill your own mother?_ “I see…” she manages to say after a long moment.

“There’s nothing you can do to help me, this is a conflict I need to resolve by myself.”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job at it the past two weeks, haven’t you?” she says with just enough sarcasm in her voice for him to recognize she was teasing him.

“I’m not in the mood for your mockery, Élise,” he retorts sharply.

She sighs, admitting defeat. She succeeded at making him open up to her, yet she failed miserably at broaching the subject of his mother, once again. _Here goes nothing!_ “Arno, listen to me,” she says softly. “I promised I’d help you look for your mother, should you ever want to find her.”

“No, _you_ listen to me,” he barks, staring at her with stormy eyes. “I don’t _want_ to find her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Why don’t you let the little boy win this argument, for once?” she asks, holding his gaze without flinching.

“Because the little boy needs to shut up and get over her, once and for all,” he croaks as he gets up quickly, kicking the chair back and knocking it over. “I’m going to bed.”

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes. _This is going to be difficult. Please God, help me._

* * *

**13 April, 1797**

Élise hasn’t slept a wink, and from what she could tell from his constant tossing and turning, neither did Arno. To her relief, when she took his hand in the middle of the night, in search of reassurance and forgiveness, he didn’t pull it away. He also didn’t shrug her lips away when she kissed his shoulder. Perhaps he even smiled, but Élise wasn’t certain. It was dark in the room, after all.

Despite the lack of sleep, he seemed in a better mood when he left for work that morning, and she decided to hang on to that faint glimmer of hope that he had listened to the little boy’s voice, and would agree to speak to his mother.

With the children washed and fed, and the house rapidly cleaned, she prepares the breakfast basket for Maria. She even adds a small bunch of spring flowers plucked from the garden, hoping it would bring some good luck – good luck for herself or for Maria, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Good morning!” Maria greets her with a large grin.

Élise notices how she looks well rested and her cheeks have taken a bit of color. _Nothing like the fresh air of the Alps to insufflate some life back into anyone!_ “Good morning! How did you sleep?”

“Better than I’ve had in a very long time, thank you. This is a comfortable little place you made here,” Maria comments, looking around the guesthouse and nodding in appreciation, as she lets Élise inside.

“This is all Arno’s work,” Élise says proudly. “He came up with the idea of a guesthouse to make a bit of money on the side. Due to unfortunate circumstances, we were quite poor in the beginning. And he transformed a crumbling shed into this lovely little house. It’s not extravagant, but it has all the necessary comfort.”

“The children are not with you?” She couldn’t hide her disappointment of not seeing her grandchildren’s sweet little faces this morning. Her heart melted the day before when Julie handed her the bread, as if it was her most precious possession. The little girl was so proud! And it didn’t matter if there was a bit of sand on the bread. Her granddaughter stole her heart from the very beginning, and there was no way she was going to give it back. And she couldn’t wait to get to know her grandsons better, and hold them in her arms.

Élise offers her guest a kind, compassionate smile. “I left Julie with their father, she wanted to see the kittens. And the boys are with our neighbor, Marcera. I hope you are not offended that I haven’t introduced you to your grandchildren as their grandmother. You will understand that I can’t have my daughter speak of her grandmother to Arno before he knows you are here.”

Maria smiles back, then nods. Disappointment was still written on her face, but in her blue eyes was also humbleness. “I understand. I realize I am nothing but a stranger to them.”

“And to Arno.”

“And to Arno,” the older woman repeats with a loud sigh.

Élise puts the basket up on the table, and carefully arranges its content on it. “I spoke with him, last evening. In veiled terms. Part of him wants to see you…”

“But part of him also doesn’t? I’m not surprised...” Maria says with a faint exhaled laughter. She sits at the edge of her bed and looks down at her fidgeting hands, the same hand fidgeting gestures Arno made the evening before.

 _Like mother like son_ , Élise thinks to herself with a half-smile. “He told me he dreamt about you, just two weeks ago. And he’s been brooding over this dream ever since. Arno tends to bottle everything up, you see. And while it might appear unwise, knowing how much pain and anger he holds in his heart…” She pauses to take a deep breath. “I don’t think there will ever be a good moment for you to meet him. We might as well let it happen, and the sooner the better.”

“You know my son better than I do, for obvious reasons. I trust you will do what is best for him. When can I see him?”

“This afternoon. I’ll take you to our garden, and you can sit there with the children after I wake them up for their nap. I know Arno will take a short break around 4pm, before he takes the goats back inside for the evening milking.”

“I’ve waited so long for this moment…” Maria says in a thready voice.  

“Believe me, he has, too. He will never admit it, but I know he has.” Élise curls her arm around handle of her basket, ready to leave. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. I just want to see Arno...” Maria says, forcing a smile through the tears that threatened to fall.

“And you will,” Élise says with the most reassuring smile she could muster.

* * *

“MAWIA!” Julie shouts, running towards Maria who is sitting in the garden.

“Julie! Do not shout like that, it’s not polite!’” Élise scolds as she bends down to let the twins crawl on the grass. “Now apologize, say you’re sorry,” she tells her daughter after catching up with her. “Go on.”

Julie looks at her mother with her mouth pursed in a firm pout. She’s not used to being scolded, and she finds her mother’s request to apologize rather confounding.

“Sowwy…” the little girl mutters after a long hesitation.

“Apology accepted, little Julie,” Maria says with a laugh.

“Now, go play with your brothers. And be nice to them, they are still small. You’re a big sister!” Élise shakes her head. It wasn’t like her to reprimand Julie for such a trivial thing as shouting and running. She is on edge and anxious, and her patience is running very thin.

Maria takes a sip from her tea. “You have our hands full!”

“Julie is a handful, the twins are a handful… I don’t want to imagine the mayhem when the boys will be able to walk!” Élise moans as she sits at the small garden table.

“Arno was a happy baby, but a quiet baby,” Maria recalls with a wistful smile. “He wasn’t crying very often, but at night... You said earlier that he is brooding; as a toddler, he was just the same. Whenever he was upset, he would fall silent and he could easily disappear for several hours. We’d find him in a closet, behind the staircase, up in the attic. The attic was his favorite place. I don’t know how he could even climb up there, the ladder was steep and narrow, it was so dangerous for the little boy he was!”

Élise chuckles. She doesn’t have the slightest of difficulty imagining Arno as a little boy climbing up a ladder to find refuge as high as he possibly could, regardless of the danger it represented. “I’m not the least surprised. This sounds just like him.”

“One day, we found him all the way up in a tree! I was yelling at him, begging him to come down, but he wouldn’t listen! He wanted to stay up there. His father climbed up the tree, sat on a branch, and somehow he managed to convince Arno to come down.” She lets out a bitter snort. “Little did I know I had a little Assassin hiding in my skirts. And when I found out –”

Élise touches Maria’s arm to interrupt her. She wanted nothing else than to listen to these stories from when Arno was a baby, but out of respect, she preferred to not hear them right now. “Arno needs to hear this first, not me. Please, Maria.”

“I know, you’re right. I got a little carried away,” Maria apologies with a contrite laugh. “I never had anyone to talk about my son, all those years. Back in Austria, no one even knows he exists...”

Élise frowns in surprise upon hearing this new piece of information about Arno’s maternal family. _No one knows?_ “I’ll go see where he’s at,” she says, giving Maria’s arm a gentle squeeze. “And when I see him, I’ll try to lure him to the garden.”

The two women exchange nods and faint, knowing smiles. It was almost time for mother and son to be reunited.

“Maria, I presume you know I’m a Templar?” Élise asks as she gets off her chair. She doesn’t know why she’s asking this question, revealing in that way her identity as Templar to a woman who is known to have fled from her Assassin husband. She could be a Templar herself, for all Élise knows.

The older woman nods. “Yes, I know.”

Élise’s heart is thumping hard as she catches a glimpse of Arno in the yard. _Having a break, just as I anticipated. This is it, please God help me..._

“Arno! Do you have a few minutes?” she calls, waving her hand. _Or a few hours, more likely._

He turns around with a smile and starts walking towards her. “What is it?”

She takes his hand in hers and places her other hand on his shoulder. “I’d like…” Her breath was hitching in her throat from nervousness. “I’d like you to meet our guest.”

He raises an eyebrow, confused by her abnormally skittish behavior. “Well, I was about to go train a little bit… Can’t it wait?”

“Please, she’s in the garden,” she begs, her voice shaking. She looks into his eyes, her own eyes pleading. “And she wants to meet you, too.”

With both eyebrows raised, he shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go introduce myself, if you insist.”

She tightens her grip on his hand in a silent _thank you_.

“Did you leave the children with her?” he asks, as they make their way to the garden.

“Don’t worry, she’s very good with them,” she chuckles nervously. _They’re with their grandmother, what could possibly go wrong?_

“We still don’t know who she is. Remember Paula? Where did you say she was from?”

She shudders at the mention of Paula, their first traveler, who tried to steal Arno away from her. “I never said anything about where she’s from. I only said that she is traveling, and her name is Maria.” Élise takes a deep, uneasy breath as they enter the garden. “Maria? Arno is here.”

She feels Arno pull on her hand as he stops in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the ashen grey-haired woman who is slowly turning to face him.

It had been decades, but he would have recognized those blue eyes and that smile anywhere. God knows how many times he has scoured crowds in search of those elusive blue eyes, from Paris to Versailles and everywhere his father took him, to no avail. Still, his mind was refusing to believe what his own eyes were seeing, and he simply stood there, stunned, gazing open-mouthed at her and making no sound or motion.

“Arno, ich bin es, deine Mutter… _[Arno, it’s me, your mother...]_ ” Maria says, in the language she used to speak to him into when it was just the two of them, with tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. A young man was standing in front of her, and there was no mistaking who he was. She recognizes those brown eyes, one and the same as his father’s, and the same she saw in François and Charles the day before. With his broad shoulders – _like his grandfather_ , she thinks to herself – and his lean yet muscular build, he was much taller than her. _My baby is all grown up!_

“M… Mama?” he stammers, his lips breaking into a smile. But his smile fades almost instantaneously, and he shakes Élise’s hand off, as repressed pain and anger resurface and overcome him. “What on Earth are you doing here?” he growls. Before his mother could answer, he turns to Élise. “Oh, wait, I get it. It’s you. YOU! You LIED to me!” he yells pointing at her, his dark eyes furious.

Élise’s mouth opens and closes in bewilderment. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Ich kann erklären, was ich getan habe – _[I can explain, what I’ve done –]_ ” Maria says, in an attempt to calm him down.

He turns to his mother. “STAY OUT OF THIS!” he interrupts, shouting, before turning again to face Élise. He stares at her, livid. “HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME? I said I didn’t want to find her, and you went behind my back!”

“I haven’t! I swear, I didn’t know she was coming!” Élise protests, indignation soaring.

“She speaks the truth, I came here on my own initiative,” Maria explains, taking sides with Élise. “I had to find you, I had to see you…”

“Stay out of this, I said,” he hisses, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide. “Stay out of this, and stay out of my life.”

“My love, you’re in shock, maybe if we all sit down and talk...” Élise says calmly, but inside she was crumbling. She knows she will not be able to fight the tears for much longer. Knowing how angry he was when he spoke of his mother the evening before, this outburst was no surprise. What she didn’t expect, was that he would direct his anger at her. She didn’t deserve these wrongful accusations, but she was at loss for words and counter-arguments. _I'm your wife, not your mother!_ “Arno, where are you going?” she asks as she suddenly sees him leave. _No, no, no, no, you are not going to take the easy way out!_

“I’m getting the hell out of here. Why do you even care, seeing how you betrayed me?” he spits, a bitter sneer on his face.

The glare at each other for a long moment, in the most unamiable way.

“Because if you leave right now, you’re no better than your mother,” she spits back, her green eyes as cold as ice.

Unfazed, he turns his heels, leaving his mother, his wife, and his children behind.

Upset by their father’s shouting and the heavy tension in the air, Julie and Charles are wailing, while François whimpers without actually crying, confused about what had just happened.

Maria is sitting on a chair, hands over her face, sobbing.

Élise is standing in the middle of the garden, dazed.

The volcano had erupted.

Élise falls to her knees, and welcomes her three crying children who rush into her arms. She holds them close, covering their heads with tender kisses. She then closes her eyes and lets her own tears flow. She wanted to rush out and follow Arno, beg him to come home, but deep down, she knew she had to give him time. And space.

“I’m sorry, Élise. I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault,” Maria says, shaking her head.

“Yes, it is your fault. ALL OF THIS, is your fault,” Élise snaps through her tears. She hugs her children and tries to comfort them in a soothing voice.

“I’m leaving this evening. I obviously can’t stay here and be in your way,” Maria says, resigned. When she set course towards Paris a few weeks ago, she knew this long journey to find her abandoned son could come to an abrupt end before she even had a chance to explain her actions. _At least, I saw him. At least, I know what he looks like as a young man. At least, I got to meet his wife and their children. I must hold on to this and find comfort in it, for as long as I shall live_ , she tries to reason herself.

“Things get a little heated, and you want to take off again – like you did 25 years ago? I am _not_ going to let you do that. Not this time,” Élise hisses.

Maria nods, recognizing Élise was right. She couldn’t hide anymore, she couldn’t flee anywhere. She had to face the consequences of her actions, and face her death, with – or rather without Arno’s forgiveness. “Then I’ll stay,” she says with a sigh. “I will pray to God that Arno comes to his senses, and comes back to his family.” She pauses and breaks into sobs once more. “And that I can finally hold my baby in my arms...”

In Élise’s arms, the children have stopped crying, to her relief. Her own tears have dried, too. _Don’t let the children know you’re hurting. Stay strong! Put your anger aside, be the better person._ She sits more comfortably on the grass, pulling the twins close to her on the one side, and Julie on the other. “He’ll come back. I know he will. He can’t stand being away from his children for more than a few hours,” she says with assurance.

“My son…” Maria says with a smile. “My son is all grown up, I barely recognized him! He is so handsome, with his father’s eyes and hair...”

“With all the commotion, I forgot that this meeting must have been a shock for you, too,” Élise says with a kind smile.

“Arno was barely three years old, when I left –”

“I don’t want to hear it, Maria. Arno needs to hear it.”

“Mama, wher’s papa?” Julie mumbles with her thumb in her mouth.

“He went out for a little bit, he’ll come back very soon,” Élise says, gently pulling Julie’s thumb out. “You see, Maria is your grandmama, the mama of your papa. And they haven’t seen each other in a long, long time. Since your papa was a little boy.”

“Wher’ mama?” the little girl says, pointing at her mother.

Élise had dreaded this question. How was she to explain to her children that the family they are growing up with is the only family they’ll ever have? It was somehow a blessing that Arno’s mother has resurfaced, allowing the children to get to know her. One day, she’ll tell them the truth about her own family and Arno’s, the never-ending war, and all the victims it made. But not now, the children were too young to understand. “My mama is an angel in heaven. Do you know what her name was?” Her daughter shakes her head. “Julie, just like you. I gave you her name, because I knew she’d watch over you from heaven, and be your guardian angel.”

Julie frowns, not quite grasping what her mother was trying to explain. “What is angel?”

“When you die, when you leave this world, you become an angel. My papa and your papa’s papa, they are both angels, too. They might not be here with us, but they still exist in our hearts, because we loved them very much. Your little brothers were named after them, so they have guardian angels too.”

“Want papa…” Julie whimpers.

“I know, Julie Bunny. He’ll sing you to sleep tonight, like every night. Do you want to go see the kittens with mama? You can pick the kitten to give to your friend Antoine!”

Julie nods with a smile, rejoiced by the prospect of picking the kitten all by herself.

After placing a kiss on each of the children’s heads, Élise gets up on her feet. _Stay strong, for the children’s sake!_ “I have to go take care of the farm, with Arno gone.”

“I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid I’m not the strongest!” Maria says with a guilt-stricken smile. She could only imagine the responsibilities that have fallen upon Élise’s shoulders after Arno stormed out – all because of her. Her health was rapidly failing, she was a shadow of herself, but there had to be something she could do to help.

“If you could watch the twins while I milk the goats and stall everyone for the night, it would be very helpful. And supper will be bread and milk, I don’t have time to cook anything. Nor do I have the energy for it...”

“Maybe I can prepare something, while you’re at work? It’s the least I can do,” Maria offers. “I’m sure I’ll find something to prepare a meal.”

“Thank you,” Élise says with a sigh of relief. “Maria, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it didn’t happen the way you had hoped.”

The older woman shakes her head, and gives Élise a contrite look. “It’s not your fault. You did what you could.”

* * *

When Arno turned his heels, he headed straight to the training room, away from Élise’s eyes. Up in the old hayloft, he found the chest he hid there not long after they settled at the farm. From the chest, he pulled his Assassin robes, his utility belt, his hidden blade, magnesium sticks, something to drink, a bag, and a small coin purse filled with enough money to survive a few days. _For emergencies_ , he told himself at the time, secretly hoping he would never have to open it. After equipping the content of the chest, he swiftly jumped down the hayloft, making an uneasy landing. He grabbed a long rifle from the wall, pulled the hood over his head, and headed out.

He ran away from the farm, as fast as he could, for as long as his lungs and his legs allowed him to run. There was only one place in his mind where he needed to go.

And at this right moment, he was standing right in front of it. _Le rocher de la Baume_ , as the locals call the massive, and rather bizarre, rock formation. From the moment they arrived in this town, he had been fascinated by it, and he swore to himself that one day, he would climb it, all the way to the top. _The view must be breath-taking from up there!_

He takes a few steps back and looks around. His eyes immediately notice a small path. “Why take the laid-out path when you can just climb?” he mumbles to himself with a smile.

A tingle of excitement came over him as he reaches to grab a protruding rock and begins his ascension.

About one-third of the way, he finds a small cave, carved out of the rock. After ensuring the cave was safe, he enters it, and sits down with his back against one of its walls, hugging his knees to his chest. The cave was small in size, with a low ceiling, limiting his movements. But it was the perfect hiding place.

He lays his rifle next to him, but away from the entrance of the cave, by fear someone passing by could steal it.

Alone in the cave, the exhilaration of the climb fading away, the day’s events rush back into his mind – his mother, standing in front of him. “You’re no better than your mother,” he hears Élise’s voice in his head, the words stinging his heart.

He closes his eyes, and he feels his breathing accelerating. Was it because the cave was lacking air to breathe, or because of the tightness in his throat? Even with his eyes closed, he feels dizzy, the pressure of his knees against his stomach making his chest hurt. He feels like screaming, he feels like throwing up. His mind is in a daze, wandering to his childhood, to the last time he remembers being put to bed by his mother, the last time he stared into those comforting blue eyes.

Finally, he lets out a scream of rage and pain, pounding the floor of the cave with his fists. And then the tears come, his whole body shaking uncontrollably with loud sobs. And as 25 years before, when he hid in a closet in fear and shame, unable to comprehend where his mother had gone, he rests his forehead on his knees and hugs himself, letting the tears flow freely.

He cries until he can’t cry no more, exhaustion settling in and taking hold. As night falls and the cave turns to dark, he falls asleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, Élise is struggling with handling the children’s bedtime routine all on her own. She managed to feed, change and put the twins to bed without too much trouble, but Julie is not giving in without a fight.

“Want papa!” Julie whines with an angry pout, for the umpteenth time, pushing away her mother’s arms.

“I’m sorry, papa is not here,” Élise repeats, forcing a smile, and trying to hide how devastated she is inside. “He’s going to come back a little later. Do you want to sleep with mama in the big bed? Like we used to do when mama was sick? How about that?”

With a sob followed by a hiccup, Julie nods.

“Come here, my Baby Bunny,” Élise says softly as she lifts her daughter into her arms. “I should really stop calling you Baby Bunny, you’re a big girl, you’re getting heavy!”

In the master's’ bedroom, Élise sits down at the edge of the bed, and Julie crawls to the middle.

“Whe’s papa?” Julie asks with big brown eyes full of worry.

“I don’t know, Julie. But he’ll come back. I promise you,” Élise says as she pulls the bedcovers over her. She places a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, and caresses her cheek with her thumb. With a sigh, she carefully rolls to her side and pulls the covers over herself, and watches her little girl’s eyelashes flutter as she fights sleep.

Lying awake, Élise tries to imagine what it was like for Arno when he noticed his mother’s absence. Did he cry and call for her? Did he throw a tantrum to his father, asking for his mother, the same way Julie just did with her, asking for her father? How long did he keep hoping she would come back, before he finally understood she never would?

Tears fill her eyes and her heart breaks, feeling at once the loneliness her beloved must have felt, and the confusion her own daughter must be feeling at this moment. “Arno, where are you? Come back,” she murmurs with a sniffle.

* * *

**14 April, 1797**

Back in the guesthouse, in a state of shock, Maria replays the events of the afternoon in her head all night long. She expected her son to react in anger, but deep down, she had hoped and prayed for a more peaceful reunion. The fury she witnessed in his eyes frightens her. And finally, she begins to understand the level of destruction she caused when she left her son and her husband, some 25 years ago. Her heart is aching for Élise and the children – they are suffering because of her actions. _Élise has more than enough reasons to chase me away from their property, and yet, she allows me to stay. God bless her soul, God bless her for loving my son like I never could._

And all night long, she prays to God that Arno would come to his senses, and come back to his family, she prays to God that Élise will remain strong, and she prays to God that the children will not suffer.

“I presume he’s not back,” Maria says with a half-smile after she opens the door to Élise bringing her breakfast and fresh linens, early in the morning. _And once more, God isn’t hearing my plea_ , she thinks to herself.

“No, he’s not,” Élise replies hurriedly, her voice husky from too many tears, and not enough sleep. She left the children unattended, and she knows she cannot stay away for too long. “And that means I have to find a way to keep the farm running in his absence, take care of our children, and there’s my lessons...”

“I can watch the children for you. They have so much energy, I feel alive when I’m with them.”

Élise stares at Maria, carefully considering her proposal. Her mother-in-law is a complete stranger, but Julie has shown her a lot of affection from the very beginning. With her father gone, it would be cruel not to let her daughter spend some time with her only grandmother. And while the boys might not be able to formulate their fears in words yet, their eyes speak thousands. They miss their father, and Élise knows they are in need of comforting arms. And if she can’t be the one providing those comforting arms because of all the work she has to do... “Under one condition,” she agrees.

“Anything, I’ll do anything!” Maria says, her smile widening.

“The children cannot know the reason why you left their father behind as a child,” Élise says grimly. “One day, when they’ll be older, we’ll tell them. Right now, I do not want them involved, they are suffering enough as it is. You can present yourself as their grandmother, you can love them and spoil them like any grandmother would do. They are your rightful grandchildren, and it would be heartless to not allow you to get to know them before…”

“Before I become an angel, as you so beautifully explained to little Julie? I’m afraid I’ll burn in hell for what I’ve done to Arno. May God have mercy on me,” Maria says bitterly. “I agree to your condition. I will come by as soon as I have finished breakfast.”

“Then we have a deal,” Élise nods. She hands the basket to Maria, and after the two women exchange polite smiles, she rushes back to the house. _I’ll have to send Henriette and Claudine home when they come for their lesson, there is no way I can concentrate today_ , she thinks to herself. The was too much to do.

* * *

Arno wakes up after sleeping what felt like an eternity, his watch soon confirming his feeling – it was already past noon. He was thirsty and hungry, his eyelids were filled with sand. He opens one of his two bottles of wine. He is tempted to empty the bottle in several large gulps, but he reasons himself. Not knowing how long he’d stay out here, a self-imposed rationing was much wiser.

His whole body is stiff and achy from sleeping on the rocky floor of the cave. With difficulty, he sits up straight and stretches his legs. Sooner or later, he’ll have to find food. _Preferably sooner than later_ , he thinks to himself as he hears his stomach growl.

After re-equipping his rifle, he crawls out of his cave, the bright sun blinding him and making his head hurt.

The descent is more laborious than the ascent, soreness having settled in his muscles overnight. After crossing the bridge over the river, he wanders aimlessly in the streets of the village. He buys a loaf of bread and dry meat, which he stores in his bag after eating about a third of each. He’ll have enough for a few days, if he can keep with his rationing.

Before long, the crowded market is making him dizzy. He needs to escape, he needs air to breathe.

He returns to the mountain, climbing passed the cave where he spent the night. He needed to go higher, all the way to the top. _Only then I’ll be able to breathe._

* * *

In everything Élise does that day, her mind is with Arno. She swears under her breath, not having a single clue what she is supposed to do with the animals and the farm, and where to even begin. She lets Brioche take the lead with the herd after a rather unsatisfying milking, she tries to clean the barn and the stables as best she can, and she spends a copious amount of time grooming the horses, the one and only task she knows well. _Keeping busy is the best remedy against tears_ , she repeats like a mantra.

With each minute that goes by, she wonders where he is. But most of all, she prays he didn’t harm himself.

The ascent took him several hours in the warm spring sun, and he only stopped to take a few sips of wine. When he arrives at the highest point he could safely reach without using ropes and hooks, he finds a flat area where he can sit down. He winces as he takes off his gloves, his fingers almost raw from hours of gripping the coarse rock, the texture much different than your average polished window ledge.

The view over the region was rather disappointing, considering night was falling and the climb led him further to the back of the mountain. He can’t even distinguish the farm from where he is sitting. Shrugging the disappointment away, he reaches into his bag and pulls his bottle of wine. After emptying it, he throws it as far as he can, and smiles as he hears the glass shattering way down below.

He looks around him, and deducts he’s about three-quarters of the way to the top of the mountain. “Not bad for a rusty Assassin,” he mutters.

He hadn’t called himself an Assassin in years. As much as he tried, he couldn’t deny his nature, his own essence. He was born with specific abilities, he was part of a long family lineage, his own children have – he hopes – inherited of his abilities. If this essence was the reason his mother rejected him and his father, then she had nothing to explain. He didn’t need to hear it. _She can go back to where she comes from, I don’t care._

He takes several deep breaths, but contrary to what he had hoped when he decided to reach the peak of the mountain, he can’t get rid of the tightness in his chest. _Breathe, Arno. Breathe._

Shuddering, he pulls on the lapels of his coat and brings his knees up to his stomach, trying to stay warm.

It was too late to descend back to the cave. He’d have to spend the night up here.

* * *

She waited for him hopelessly all evening, sitting in the garden all by herself.

“Come back, my love,” Élise murmurs as she finally goes to bed. She kisses her children goodnight, the three of them will be sleeping with her tonight. She needed their comforting presence as much as they needed hers.

* * *

There were no twigs to start a fire, and he feels the cold cut deep into his bones. He thinks of Élise and of the children, his heart aching. He misses them immensely, his arms are so empty without his family to hold.

But he couldn’t go back. Not as long as _she_ was there.

* * *

**15 April, 1797**

“PAPA!” Julie screams at the top of her lungs, her eyes wide-open in fear.

“Shhhhhh Julie, mama is here…” Élise whispers as she tries to get a hold her daughter. But the little girl pushes her mother away, thrashing with her arms and legs.

Confronted to Julie caught in the grips of a terror, Élise is helpless. Nothing she says and nothing she does seem to provide any comfort. Before their big sister can cause them any harm, she brings the twins to safety in their crib, and returns to the bed where she can only sit and wait for Julie to find a way to calm herself on her own.

After several long minutes, Julie’s screams cease and turn to quiet whimpers. Only then is Élise able hold her daughter in her arms. “I’m sorry I can’t understand what you’re going through,” she says, her own tears joining her daughter’s. “I wish I could help you. Mama is trying her best, you know.”

The terror left Julie exhausted, and soon the toddler is sound asleep.

“Arno, I can’t do this without you. Come back, enough is enough,” Élise sobs, hugging Julie while she sleeps.

It was going to be another long and lonely day.

* * *

“Oh, a letter from Freddie!” Élise exclaims as she takes the letter from the hand of the messenger. The kitchen is a mess, and she should be preparing breakfast for the children, for Maria, and for herself, but instead she sits down on the sofa to read the letter. 

> _My dearest Élise,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you well and in a timely manner. I should warn you that Arno’s mother has left our house only a few minutes ago. How she found us while looking for her son, I will save for another letter. Or perhaps she will tell you herself. Interesting woman, this Maria. I want you to remember, my dear Élise: revenge will get you nowhere, and will only lead to pain and destruction. Redemption, on the other hand, will save you. Give her a chance to explain. Arno deserves to know about his family, we’ve kept too many secrets from him as it is, don’t you think?_

“News certainly don’t travel fast, as she’s already here and I only get this letter today!” Élise snorts. She continues reading. 

> _Over here, things are rather quiet, and I suppose that’s a good thing. You were right in saying after everything I went through, it was time to settle down and enjoy what life has to offer. I am very spoiled by Madeleine and Hélène (she sends her regards, by the way) who seem to think I’m some old man who needs to be pampered and treated with care. I simply nod and grin, I wouldn’t want to upset them._
> 
> _Meanwhile, I have received word that you have put yourself in a potentially hazardous situation. I know what you’re asking yourself right now: how is it possible that he knows? I have eyes and ears everywhere, my child. Never forget it. And I am kindly asking you to put an end to your clandestine school immediately. Otherwise, you run the risk of finding yourself in a position that will put you, Arno, and the children at risk._
> 
> _Take care of yourself._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Freddie W._  

“I take that back, news _do_ travel fast,” she mutters with a groan. She slaps her forehead with the palm of her head – the letter in her hands gives her an idea. Uncovering the identity of this informer will have to wait another day, as she has other pressing issues to address. She bolts towards the study, and frantically looks for Arno’s notebook. If there was one way for her to find out, once and for all, what was going on in his head, to find out the things he wouldn’t share with her or anyone else, it was in the letters he writes to his father.

She finds the notebook under a pile of papers and promptly opens it. A letter with smudged ink, dated from the 30th of March, flies out of the notebook.

“Ah, there you are. This must be the most recent one,” Élise says with a smile as she picks up the letter from the floor.

She begins reading.

* * *

The letter was all she needed to plan out her strategy and prepare a list of arguments to convince Arno to come home – she had written proof he _wanted_ to know about his mother, despite repeatedly saying he didn’t. The children had suffered enough, she had suffered enough. His mother had suffered enough. And above all, Arno had suffered enough. This stubborn toddler’s tantrum had to stop. Now.

In turns, she knocks on Marcera’s door, and then on Marianne’s, begging for help. “No time to explain, this is an emergency,” she tells both of them. And her friends respond to her plea without hesitation.

“I must to go and find Arno,” Élise announces to Maria later that morning. “He had his chance to come back out of his own will. Marianne, who used to be our farm help and childminder when I was in confinement, will take care of the farm while I’m away. Since I do not know where Arno is, and how long I’ll be searching for him, I’ve asked my neighbor Marcera to help you with the children and take care of the household. I will try to come back on time to feed the boys, but if I’m unable to do so for whatever reason, give them goat milk to drink. Can I trust you to not say a single word about Arno’s Assassin heritage to anyone? No one knows who we are, in this town. No one knows I’m a Templar either.”

Maria nods. “Of course. You have my word,” she promises.

Élise stares at Maria with squinted eyes. “I don’t know why I’m trusting you, I don’t even know you. You could be a spy, for all I know,” she says in a serious manner, with a raised eyebrow.

“I swear on my son’s head that I am not a spy. Only a very ordinary Austrian woman,” Maria retorts in the same manner. “I shall pray for his safe return, and for yours too. May God guide you in your search.”

“At this point, we definitely need a miracle,” Élise mumbles, shaking her head.

Mounted on her favorite mare, she heads to the village. She visits every shop, every mill, every atelier, every boutique, every stand at the market, and asks if anyone has seen Arno. Invariably, the answer is _no_. She visits every church, every infirmary, with the same discouraging result. She asks at the city hall, and while Thibaud was delighted to see her, his negative answer only disappointed her.

She rides to neighboring villages, but no one has seen a man corresponding to the description she makes of Arno.

Defeated and heavy-hearted, she returns home empty-handed, where she is greeted by the adults’ compassionate smiles, and the children’s questioning eyes. Even Brioche is greeting her with her tail between her legs. She misses her master.

Later in the evening, Élise listens patiently to Julie who is eager to tell her mother about her day with her grandmother, and the new German words she learned. And come bedtime, she showers the children with kisses and distributes a generous number of cuddles, all the while knowing she can never replace their father’s love and affection.

 _Keep it together, Élise, don’t let the children see you cry_ , she repeats herself as she battles the tears that threaten to fall.  

* * *

Up in the mountain, Arno watches the sun rise. His limbs, as well as his mind, are numb. Climbing so high hadn’t been such a good idea after all, and he was bitterly regretting this act of foolishness. The night had been cold, dark, and lonely. He was out of wine, as he tried to use the alcohol to stay warm during the night. _So much for rationing._

After a quick breakfast, he begins his descent towards the cave where he spent his first night. His fingers are sore and his body is painfully tense. On more than one occasions, he is close to slipping off, but his quick reflexes save him from a fall each time.

Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, he reaches his refuge. While gathering twigs and branches for a fire, he notices a fine stream of water disappearing into the ground. With cupped hands, he scoops some of the water and drinks as much as he can. The water was cold and tasted good. He scoops more water and splashes it on his face, and then fills his empty bottle of wine with the water.

Refreshed and somewhat revived, he lights a small fire by the entrance of the cave. Gradually, warmth seeps into his limbs, and he begins to relax.

He retreats into the cave. There, he lays his head on his bag like on a pillow, and curls up on the hard stone floor. He was hungry, but he was almost out of food. “Sleep, I must sleep,” he mumbles as he closes his eyes.

* * *

**16 April, 1797**

Another night, another terror for Julie, and another feeling of helplessness for Élise, added to her ever-increasing worriedness. Had anything happened to Arno? Was he in danger? Where could he be hiding? He can’t have travelled as far as Gap, can he? How on Earth could a loving father suddenly leave his family behind?

She finds herself increasingly empathetic towards Arno’s father, who had to raise his son on his own from one day to the next, just like she had to do since Arno took off. _Charles didn’t send his child away to a boarding school after his wife disappeared, unlike another father I know_ , she thinks bitterly. And against all odds, her empathy towards his mother is growing, too. Something must have happened to trigger Maria’s departure, and while her actions caused long-term damages to her son, she cannot attribute these actions to any sort of evil intent. _Even the most loving parents make mistakes._

In a blur, she repeats all on her own the children’s morning routine of the last couple of days. Marcera and Marianne come by to offer their help, which she can’t refuse. After dropping a basket full of food and drinks on the front doorstep of the guesthouse, without even knocking on the door, she sets off. She has no time to waste with polite conversations. She has to find him.

She rides first to other neighboring villages, where she is welcomed with the same negative answer as the day before. No one has seen anyone corresponding to Arno’s description.

And the villagers of Sisteron confirm they haven’t seen the trace of him.

As she was riding passed the bridge over the Durance on her way back to the farm later that afternoon, it dawns on her. She rolls her eyes at herself, and shakes her head, letting out a groan. How could she have overlooked the most obvious location, all this time?

Closing in on a possible hiding place was one thing, but _climbing_ the possible hiding place was another. She breathes a sigh of relief when she notices a small path spiraling upwards. She ties the reins of her horse around a neighboring tree, and promises her loyal mount she would be back as soon as possible.

The climbs up the path as fast as she can, her legs and her lungs burning from the effort. Eventually, the path’s incline flattens, and before she can begin to catch her breath, an arm snakes around her neck and another holds a blade under her nose.

“Let go of me!” she coughs as she punches her assailant hard in the stomach with one sharp elbow.

Groaning in pain, Arno releases her neck and retracts his blade. The crackling of footsteps on the path’s gravel had caught his attention: he hadn’t seen anyone up here on the mountain since his desertion. Lurking around the corner of the cave, he waited patiently until the footsteps were close enough to launch an attack. To his despair, he recognized her beloved red hair and the scent of her perfume, only a split second too late. “Élise! I could have killed you!” he says, clutching the side where she hit him.

Her heart skips a beat when she recognizes his Assassin robes. “Arno! Thank God I found you! I knew you had to be up here!” she exclaims, beaming. She wants to kiss him, to hug him, but under his hood, the pained look in his eyes tells her he wasn’t ready to make peace.

He was in fact both furious and relieved to see her: furious, because it meant being forced to face what he was desperately trying to escape; and relieved, because he wouldn’t have to make the first step towards reconciliation, if reconciliation was at all possible. What he did was unacceptable, and he didn’t expect her to forgive him that easily. “Well, congratulations!” he sneers. He flipped his hood down, and returns in the cave.

She follows him. “You still think I lied to you?”

He spins around and glares at her. “I said numerous times I didn’t want to find her. The evening before my mother reappears in my life, my wife tells me once more that she is ready to help me. And then, there she is: my mother, in my own garden, with my own children! What else am I supposed to think?”

She holds his gaze without wavering. “That your wife has respected your wish. That your wife was in shock herself when she came face to face with your mother on our doorstep. That your wife was torn, asking herself what she should do, knowing too well seeing your mother would upset you. And in the end, that your wife only wanted you to get the answers you’ve been asking for.”

“I never asked for answers,” he snaps. With his back against the back wall of the cave, and Élise standing in front of him, blocking his way out, he feels captive, and his chest tightens again. _Breathe, Arno. Breathe_.

“Yes, you have. I know because I read the letter you wrote your father.”

“These letters are private!’ he fumes. He steps closer to her, nose to nose, his eyes dark and fierce. “How many times do I have to ask you to stay away from my notebook?”

She continues holding his gaze without a single blink. She had a message to deliver, and cowering was out of the question. “I had to know what was going on in your head. You’ve asked your father to send you a sign to help you in your quest, and he sent your mother. Now is the time to finally face her, and demand to know what happened some 25 years ago.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” he says through clenched teeth. He walks away to rest his back against the wall, and looks down to his feet.

There it was, the small crack in his enraged façade she was waiting for. _Time to shatter this façade for good._ “In your letter, you said you could never leave your children behind. Yet, that’s exactly what you did. Three little pairs of brown eyes looking at me, begging me to tell them where their papa went. The children don’t deserve to suffer because you’re suffering, Arno. Is this the father you want to be?”

He winces as her words hit him square and hard in the heart. No, this is not the father he wants to be. He thinks of his children suffering – by his own fault. In his mind, he sees Julie with her bouncing red curls and the tiny freckles on her nose. And the boys, the adorable little copies of himself with their playful smiles. How could he…? He wants to hold them in his arms, and say he is sorry, so deeply sorry. Tears want to stream down his cheeks, but he holds them back. Slowly, he lets himself sink down to the floor, bracing his knees and pressing them against his chest. Without his façade, he looked like a sulking small child. “I can’t face her… I can’t…” he says, shaking his head pitifully.

She drops to her knees in front of him. “Because it hurts? Because you’d rather not reopen the wound? Give her the chance to explain and give yourself the chance to heal, before it’s too late. Let the little boy in you win the argument, for once,” she says softly, touching his knee. She takes a deep breath, before saying: “I wasn’t lying when I said our guest was very ill. Your mother is dying, Arno.”

He looks up in disbelief. “And I should feel sorry? She has never been a part of my life, why should I care that she's dying? Good riddance, if you ask me.”

“Don’t be so cruel, it’s not like you. She only has weeks left, maybe months.”

He lets out an indignant puff. “I can’t believe you allowed her in our home.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Send her away?” she retorts impatiently. “My love, as a mother, I resent her with every fiber of my being for what she did to you, her own son, her own baby. But for your sake, for our family’s sake, I am putting this resentment aside. I can’t deny you the opportunity to get answers, nor can I deny our children the chance to get to know their grandmother. She’s the only grandparent they’ll ever know.”

He remains silent for a long minute, pondering on her words while fidgeting with his fingers. Then, he looks up to her. “Has she told you why she left?”

“I refuse to hear her story before _you_ get a chance to hear it.”

He nods, and looks down to his fingers. _A grown man shouldn’t cry_ , he scolds himself. _“Let the little boy in you win the argument”_ , her words replaying in his head. His lower lip begins to quiver, his face contorts, and the tears begin rolling. “When she left, she left without a word. She didn’t even say goodbye…” His voice is strangled by a sob, but he swallows it away.

She comes so sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder. With precaution, she reaches to stroke his hair. Is it the dim light in the cave, or is she seeing his first grey hair, right above his ear? She smiles. “We never got to say goodbye to our fathers, have we? I was lucky to say goodbye to my mother before she passed away. You’ve been given a second chance to say goodbye to your mother. It’s a precious gift, don't waste it.”

“I don’t think I can. Say goodbye,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to let her go. Not again.”

With her other hand, she reaches to cup his chin, and turn his face towards her. “Arno, I’m here for you, I’ll help you. You’re not alone. I will not leave you, not ever.”

With a sob and a nod, he throws himself in her arms. She holds him, stroking his back and caressing the nape of his neck. She thinks of the words to say to comfort him, but only tightens her embrace instead. With her nose in his neck, she revels in the familiar scent of his coat. It smelled of sweat, it smelled of blood, it smelled of Paris – of the murky waters of the Seine, of the dust from the streets, it smelled of their adventures, it smelled of the past. _But the past catches up_ , she reminds herself, like a warning.

In her arms, pressed against her soft body, with her delicate fingers in his neck, he realizes how much he missed her. She was his home, she was his everything. _Never again_ , he swears. With a deep sigh, he pulls away from her, and sits back against the wall. He wipes his tears with the back of his sleeve.

She brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes and smiles. “You should have seen Julie, she was so proud to sing the German lullaby you’ve been singing to her. She instantly loved Maria, you know.”

“Did she? For a child who is scared of strangers!” he says, sniffling and smiling. He was proud of his daughter for being able to say a few words in German, and he couldn’t wait to get home to hear it for himself.

She chuckles. “You should listen to your daughter the peacemaker, she’s trying to tell you something.”

“Maybe you're right,” he sighs.

She slips one arm around his shoulder and plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “Come home, be a father. And be a son.”

He nods, and his smile fades. Returning home meant facing his mother, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to speak to her, to hear what she has to say.  “I don't want to see her today, I need another day. I just want to see the children for now, that’s my condition” he says gravely.

She nods. “Whatever you need. As long as you come home.”

“I’m sorry, for leaving,” he murmurs, purposely avoiding her gaze. “You were right, by doing so, I wasn’t any better than my mother.”

“All is forgiven,” she says softly. And she meant every word. Dwelling on mistakes would only keep wounds open. It was time for forgiveness.

She hugs him tightly, and he hugs her back. They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before resting their foreheads together. She places a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Quite a cozy place you made for yourself here,” she comments with an impressed smile. “Food, drinks, a fire. What did you do up here all this time?”

He laughs. “I slept. Can you imagine? I never realized how exhausted I was until I sat here, closed my eyes, and fell asleep. And I climbed. As far and as high as I could...”

She chuckles, imagining him trying to make his way up this strange mountain. _You can kick the Assassin out of the Brotherhood, but what makes him an Assassin will always remain._ “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you wearing that coat.” She runs her hand on his sleeve, her fingers tracing where the fabric was stitched together. “So many memories… Is that how you managed to roam about in town without anyone ever seeing you? I’ve been everywhere, I’ve asked everyone, and _no one_ had seen you!”

“It’s called hiding in plain sight,” he teases with a large grin.

“One day, you’ll have to teach me all of this. For now, let’s go home, my Assassin, my Arno, my love,” she says as she coils her arms around his neck and presses her lips on his for a kiss.

* * *

The house fills with the happy squeals of children and a concert of “Papa! Papa!” as Arno crosses the threshold. Soon enough, he finds himself lying on his back on the floor of the sitting room, a fallen victim of a cuddling attack orchestrated by a toddler and two babies. One day, perhaps, he’d explain to the children why he left them behind. But for now, all he wants is to play with them, hear their laughter, and hold them close to his heart.

With a discreet “Don’t mention it” in response to Élise’s heartfelt thank you’s, Marcera and Marianne leave the family reunion to return to their own homes, Maria having retreated to the guesthouse earlier that afternoon to pray for her son’s return. _God finally answered your prayers_ , Élise thinks to herself as she prepares the heartiest meal she can assemble with what she finds in the pantry. She knows Arno must be ravenous after living on careful food rationing. _The way to a man’s heart_...

Later that evening, when the twins are asleep in their crib, and while Arno is singing Julie to sleep, Élise pours the last bucket of hot water in the tub. She then spills a few drops of lavender oil, its sweet and relaxing scent filling the room.

As she sees him appear in the doorway, she slowly lets her robe slip off her shoulders and pool at her feet.

His gaze locks with hers, and he approaches the tub, his fingers fumbling to unbutton his vest.

“I’m glad Julie accepted to sleep in her own bed, despite missing you terribly,” she says coyly as her fingers join his to continue undressing him.

“Why is that?” he asks with a smirk.

She lets her hands slide inside his shirt, exposing his chest and shoulders. “Because tonight, I want you all for myself, my Arno, my love,” she murmurs against his lips before passionately taking his mouth. She finishes undressing him, and steers him towards the tub, where they let the hot water envelop their embrace.

* * *

**17 April, 1797**

Élise is busy tidying up the kitchen when Arno comes in after taking care of the morning work on the farm, Julie in tow. She is following every step of her father this morning, and she isn’t letting him out her sight. This peculiar behavior was tugging at Arno’s heartstrings: it was his fault that his daughter was now fearful of her father disappearing again. _I’ll make it up to you, Sweet Pea. And I won’t ever leave you. I promise._   

“I’m ready,” he says to Élise with a half-smile. Nervousness is twisting his stomach in a tight knot. He was ready as he’ll ever be to finally meet his mother.

She returns his smile, carefully folding the dishcloth before putting it on the counter. “Stay with the children, I’ll bring her here.”

He nods silently, biting the nail of his thumb, lost in thought.  

 _I knew it! The children are sucking their thumb because of you!_ she chuckles to herself. As she walks past him on her way out, she puts her hand on his arm for reassurance. “I’m here for you, my love. I won’t leave you alone.”

He nods again, and takes a deep breath. He decides to wait in the garden, as he feels the four walls of the house closing in on him, and suffocating him. _Breathe, Arno. Breathe._ To distract himself, he watches the children chase each other, the twins crawling as fast as they can after their running big sister. _To be this carefree again…_ Their game reminds him of Élise and himself, when things were simple, before her mother died, before… His mind trails.

And there she is. Looking frailer and more fragile than he remembered her from only a few days ago, as if worriedness and sorrow subtracted all at once several weeks of what was left of her existence. Yet, her loving blue eyes are staring at him, and they are as lively and bright as he remembered them.

“Mein Liebling!” Maria says before she bursts into tears. She opens her arms to him, her invitation clear.

He goes to her eagerly, his eyes filling with tears. “Mama,” he says as he flings his arms around her.


	27. Parentage (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who know me in real life will know that the past weeks have been very difficult. From a physical collapse from exhaustion, to a mental meltdown, to terribly stressful times at work. I tried to write, and I couldn't. So many times, I considered stopping, as what I was managing to write felt incomplete and soulless. 
> 
> I took a break. I took many breaks, actually. In the end, I didn't give up, because I had many people cheering me on to continue. And to these people, I would like to say: THANK YOU. From the bottom of my heart ♥
> 
> This isn't what I wanted to publish. This is merely half of it. I wanted to give you so much more! But at one point, I figured publishing *something* I was somewhat satisfied with, was better than not publishing anything at all.
> 
> I truly appreciate your patience. And thank you for not forgetting about this story.

**April 17, 1797 (continued)**

Maria pulls away from Arno’s arms, and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Let me look at you!” she says with a wide smile, her eyes scanning him from head to toe, her hands patting his shoulders and his arms, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming: her son was indeed standing in front of her. “I can’t believe it’s you. No, I _can_ believe it, you look just like your opa, my father. Save for your eyes and hair, these you have from your father. Oh, and his nose too, I suppose. I never saw your father with a beard, I must say. My boy. My handsome baby boy, now a man. I’m so happy I finally found you...” Her hand flies to cover her mouth, choking back a sob.

“I don’t remember grandfather,” Arno says with a frown. As hard as he tries, he can’t recall meeting anyone from his mother’s side of family, neither from his father’s side for that matter. And for an instant, he feels lonelier than ever.

She waves her hand airily. “No, you never met him. You never met anyone from my family, it’s… it’s been tragic, and complicated,” she says with a deep sigh. “Du musst wissen, ich habe nie aufgehört, an dich zu denken. _[You must know that I never stopped thinking about you.]_ ”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Mama, I don’t speak German.”

“Hast du alles vergessen? _[Did you forget everything?]_ ” she asks, a clear note of disappointment in her voice. She had been foolishly clinging to the hope that he had not forgotten everything she taught him, despite time's relentless passage. Or that his father acknowledged his son’s Austrian heritage by means of private lessons with a Germans-speaking tutor, even if she knew it was a ludicrous thought on her part considering the way their brief, yet passionate marriage ended. _There is only but a fine line between love and hate._

Arno nods sheepishly. “I still remember a few words, and this lullaby you were singing to me. And I seem to understand more words as I hear you speak, but I’m afraid I can’t speak with you.”

“It made me so happy when I heard little Julie sing the lullaby…” she says with a wide grin.

“Élise told me,” he says with an uneasy smile. The conflict in his mind and in his heart is surging again, and his chest tightens. He takes a few deep breaths to calm down, wishing he could _simply_ embrace his mother and _simply_ love her, without his stomach twisting itself into knots. He might be her flesh and blood, but the painful reality is that they are complete strangers to one another.

She notices the change in his expression. “We have a lot to tell each other, haven’t we?”

“One thing at a time…” he says prudently. He was ready to hear his mother’s side of the story, but part of him still wishes to flee and avoid the confrontation. _Man up, Arno,_ he reasons himself.

“Yes, of course.”

“I know we are running out of time,” he says, looking into her weary blue eyes. He takes a moment to look at her, grasping the gravity of her illness: the ashiness of her skin, the hollowness of the cheeks and the swelling in her stomach. How much time do they have left? A month, or two? Or maybe more, if they are lucky? _Will I ever find the strength to say goodbye now that she is finally here?_ he wonders.

“But there’s still plenty of it to get to know each other,” she assures, trying to convince him as well as herself. When the doctors in Vienna confirmed her worst fear, that evil and disease had invaded her womb, they couldn’t be certain of the number of months, weeks, or days, that she had to live. The disease had progressed insidiously for several years already, and she engaged in a race against the inevitable to find her son in time. The travelling itself has caused a great fatigue, but now that she held Arno in her arms, albeit briefly, she feels somewhat revived.

He holds his arm out for support. “Shall we go sit for a little bit? I have to go back to work very soon, but maybe you can have dinner with us this evening?”

She accepts his invitation, curling her frail arm around his strong one. “I’d love to. If Élise agrees, of course…”

They both turn their heads towards Élise. She was standing a little away with the children near the door to the garden, choosing to remain a silent witness to the amicable reunion. Tears welled in her eyes when he held his mother in his arms, mixed emotions tearing her own heart apart: happiness, true heartfelt happiness, for Arno being given the chance to see his mother again; and sorrow – bitter jealousy, even – for her own mother is forever gone and will never come back to hold her in her arms one more time. She swallows her tears and forces a smile. She couldn’t let this bitterness ruin Arno’s moment. His happiness is all she ever wanted, after all. _Be the better person. Now is not the time to give in to jealousy._ “Oh, there’s always more than enough soup for everyone, Maria. You’re welcome at our table. Do you want some tea? Arno, can I get you anything?” she adds, her eyes saying _I’ll be right back, I’m not leaving you alone._

“No, thank you,” he says with a slight knowing nod as he pulls a chair for his mother to sit on.

“Oma!” Julie squeals. Finally freed from her mother’s hold, she runs towards her grandmother and hides her face in her lap, her little arms circling around Maria’s legs.

“Do you want to sit with oma?” The toddler nods, and with her grandmother’s help, she climbs on her lap. “Your children are delightful,” Maria says with a large smile as she wraps her arms around Julie to give her a hug.

Sitting on his chair, Arno returns Maria’s smile, his fatherly pride beaming. The boys are crawling on the grass around the table, chasing one another and making attempts at standing on their feet, while Julie is snuggling in her grandmother’s arms. “They are. I am blessed to have them in my life. With Élise, they are my only family.” He winces upon realizing his mistake. _Not my only family, I have my mother, too. Even though she has never been part of my life. Does she even count?_

Maria takes the blow without flinching. “You must have many questions for me,” she says to fill the silence that had fallen between them.

“Indeed, I do. Even though I’m not entirely sure I want to hear the answers,” he admits with a nervous laugh.

“Ask away,” she says calmly.

He leans his elbows on the table, looking at his jittery hands before looking up to meet her gaze. Where to begin? “My first question would be: who are you? As it is, it seems I don’t even know your real name. Father always referred to you as Marie, and you’ve introduced yourself as Maria.”

She smiles a hesitant smile, then nods. “Yes, I understand your confusion. Let’s start with the beginning. My name is Maria Theresa Pichler, born in March 30, 1747 in Vienna. I changed my name to Marie when I married your father, but in Austria everyone knows me as Maria. My father was Viktor Ernst Pichler, and you were named after him. One of the many arguments we had, your father and I…” She pauses and sighs, before continuing. “My mother’s name was Maria Louisa, and I had two siblings: Ernst my older brother, and Rosa Maria, my younger sister. My mother passed away giving birth to my little sister, and sadly, I lost both my brother and my sister to a sudden illness one dreadful winter in 1755. I was ill too, but I miraculously recovered. Heartbroken, my father never remarried after my mother passed away, and he raised us – he raised me – as best he could by stringing one odd job after the other. We were not rich, but we were proud and hard-working. My father was a very pious man. For him, there was no other explanation to the loss of his wife and children than our family being cursed and punished by God. When I was twelve years old, he sent me away to a convent, in the hope that sacrificing his only surviving child to the service of God would lift the curse. I was a novitiate on permission when God put your father on my path, and steered me away from a life devoted to Him.”

Arno frowns, absorbing and pondering on his mother’s words. _March 30, that’s the date I dreamt of her again._ His hopes of meeting other members of his immediate family in Austria are also brutally crushed. She couldn’t be all he has left, surely? “I suppose not even grandfather is still alive?” he asks, perplexed.

She shakes her head pitifully. “Your grandfather passed away about two years ago, at age 78.”

He looks down in disappointment. _There goes my dream of discovering a family I never knew I had._ He sighs deeply, then looks up again to ask: “Did he ever say anything about me?”

She gives him the same pitiful head shake, already regretting what she was about to say. “He… I only confessed your existence to him right before he died.”

He opens and closes his mouth several times in bewilderment, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand… Why would you… Why wouldn’t he know about me?” He stares into her eyes as he awaits her answer.

“I can only imagine what you’re thinking. The relationship with my father has never been easy.”

“I see. I’d love to stay longer, but I need to go back to work…” he says while consulting his pocket watch.

“Arno, are you alright?” Élise says as she puts the tray with teapot and cups on the table. From the kitchen, with the door to the garden wide open, she caught bribes of their conversation and of Maria’s story, her heart breaking as she could only imagine what Arno felt upon hearing it. She looks at him worriedly, searching his gaze to gauge his mood, for a clue to his thoughts.

He gives her a half-smile. “Yes, I just need… to get back to work. Francis will be here soon, too,” he says as he hurriedly gets up from his chair.

“You know where to find me, don’t you?” she says, putting her hand on his arm to stop him.

A kiss on her cheek his only answer, but his lips speak a thousand words as they linger just long enough on her cheek, as if to say _Thank you_.

“And he’s off again…” she says with sigh as she watches him head back to the barn.

“What was I thinking? I should have stayed in Vienna, I’m only breaking his heart...” Maria laments.

Élise lets out breath. “And leave Arno with all these questions and no answers? He might not like what he’s hearing, yet I am convinced this is for the better. I only want him to be happy and at peace. Even if it means I’ll have to pick up his pieces and mend him back together as best I can once he knows everything. We need to give him time. And space. He’ll come around, I know he will. I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I think I will go lie down,” Maria says as she gets up to her feet, still holding Julie in her arms.

“Come Julie, grandmama Maria wants to go lie down,” Élise says, reaching out to take her daughter into her arms. “And so should you, it’s time for your nap anyway.”

“NO! Don’t wanna nap, mama!” Julie cries, clinging to her grandmother by wrapping her little arms around her neck.

“Your grandmama wants to take a nap, too. She thinks naps are good,” Élise insists, trying to defuse the oncoming tantrum.

“Yes, naps are good. Listen to your mama. I’ll be seeing you later, I promise,” Maria says as she gently puts her granddaughter on the ground.

Julie stamps her feet, her mouth set in a sulky pout. She looks at her mother, who is not impressed the slightest by Julie’s resistance, and then at her grandmother, who gives her an encouraging nod. And then, reluctantly, the little girl nods.

Élise takes her daughter’s hand and guides her towards the house. “Go inside, Julie, and wait for me. François, Charles, come with mama,” she calls. The boys turn their heads to look at their mother, their fussing indicating they were less than pleased by the interruption of their fun time. “I know you want to play outside, but it’s time for you to sleep too.” She bends to scoop her sons into her arms, wincing as the weight of the twins revives her old back and ribs injuries. “I can’t wait for you two to learn how to walk! My back will be thankful!” She gives Maria a warm smile. “Soup will be ready at 6 o’clock, You’re welcome at our table. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” Maria says. She smiles and waves at the little boys, and watches Élise and the children get inside the house, before making her way back to the guesthouse, impatient to speak to Arno again. Before lying down, she will say a prayer for him, she decides. She must pray to God that Arno opens his mind and his heart, and accepts to listen to what she has to say.

* * *

Francis raises the rifle and holds it firmly against his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, and squeezes the trigger. As the gunpowder explodes, the rifle jerks vigorously and nearly flies out of his hands.

“Are you even listening to what I’m telling you?” Arno snaps, roughly taking the rifle from Francis’ hands to recharge it.

“I am listening! I hit the target, didn’t I?” the boy protests. The bullet indeed lodged itself in one of the inner rings of the wood block they were using as a target.

“Yes, you did, but all in the wrong ways. You could have hurt yourself, and you could have hurt me,” Arno says, dropping down a bullet and gently tapping it with the ram. He hands the rifle back to Francis. “Now, concentrate, hold the rifle like I showed you, and shoot.” The boy rises the rifle again, and presses the butt against his shoulder. “No, not like that!” Arno says sharply, pulling the rifle away from Francis’ shoulder.

“What’s wrong with you? You said I had to –”

Arno takes a few steps back and lets out a long and loud groan of frustration. “Nevermind. I’m…. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you like that. It’s not your fault, something is upsetting me, and I can’t let it go…” He turns away from Francis, and busies himself with the other weapons on the table.

“Is that why you left the other day?” Francis asks as he carefully puts the rifle down on the table. “I couldn’t believe it when Élise told me you were gone.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Arno says with a deep sigh.

Francis sits at the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s the lady, isn’t it? She’s the one upsetting you?”

Arno turns to the boy and smiles. “How do you know?”

Francis shrugs, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I’m a clever boy, you’re saying it all the time!”

“This _lady,_ as you call her, is actually my mother. My long-lost mother who abandoned me 25 years ago, and who embarked on a personal pilgrimage to find her son before she dies.”

Francis gasps and raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Woah. I had no idea. That’s... terrible. You really grew up without your mother? Must have been rough for you.”

“And without my father, but this story will be for another day. I don’t want to talk about it,” Arno retorts more sharply than he intended.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be nosey or anything.”

“There are things I’d rather not talk about.” Arno returns his attention to the weapons, meticulously cleaning them and then hanging them back on the wall rack, safely out of reach of the little hands of children.

“Hey, until I leave this place to join the army…” the boy says, breaking the awkward silence. He uncrosses his arms nervously, sitting a little straighter. “I know I’m too young, but I’d like to be your friend. My brothers are living with their families, and they are not as fun to be around as you. They’re too serious. And my sister is always gone, now that she’s a midwife. Here, I can help you with stuff, and you’ve taught me to handle weapons, and to fight. If there’s anything I can do to return the favor…”

Arno pauses and turns to his young friend. “You really want to join the army? Are you sure it’s not your father’s idea?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure what I want to do…” Francis shrugs, looking down at his feet.

“What about working in carpentry, or even becoming an architect?”

“I still want to do that, but…”

Arno sits next to Francis at the edge of the table. “But…? Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“This summer, my dad suddenly had this idea of sending me ‘to fight for France’. And I’d like to do something useful when I’m older, I want to help others.”

“There are many other ways to be useful without having to give your life for your country,” Arno says with a smile and an exhaled laugh. “Building a house for a family to live in, for example. That’s very useful, and helpful. And somewhat less risky.”

“Who says I’m going to die?” Francis sasses with a smirk. “With all those fighting techniques you’ve been teaching me, I’m sure –”

“Francis, I’ve seen war and death up close more times than I can count,” Arno says sternly. “While it’s honorable you want to defend your country, you can still serve your fatherland without having to sacrifice your life.”

The boy ponders a moment on Arno’s words, nodding slightly. “Will you teach me everything you know until I can serve in the regiment, then?”

“Whatever you choose to do, it has to be _your_ decision. Not your father’s, and certainly not mine. And of course, I’ll train you until you can serve. Even though I’d hate to lose my friend,” Arno adds with a smile. He ruffles the boy’s hair, and Francis laughs.

“You really grew up without your parents? Must have been great to be free and not have your parents telling you what to do all the time,” Francis says in exaggerated frustration.

Arno lets out an indignant snort, a look of disbelief on his face. “Be thankful that you grew up with loving parents who care about you and your future, young man,” he fumes, looking squarely into Francis’ eyes. “Be thankful both your parents are still alive. Be thankful that every day, you come home to a warm meal and a warm bed. Be thankful your mother never abandoned you, and be thankful you never had to stand in the middle of a crowd as a young child, with your father lying dead at your feet. Be thankful for the life you have, for you never know when the winds will change.”

Francis bows his head deeply in shame, realizing his words were careless and inconsiderate, and wishing he could turn back time to undo his mistake. He’s always held Arno in high esteem, and certainly never meant to hurt his feelings. _Not the best way to make friends_ , he thinks to himself. “I had no idea, please forgive me, Arno,” he whimpers, close to tears. “I never meant...”

“You are still but a child, Francis,” Arno continues to hammer on the same tone, unmoved by the boy’s admission of remorse. “A child who knows nothing about hardship. You have a long way to becoming a man. Maybe joining the army isn’t such a bad idea after all. They’ll make a man out of you, I can assure you that.”

“I’m sorry…” Francis murmurs, his head still hanging low, his cheeks flushed, eyes wet.

“And I’m sorry, too,” Arno says with a deep sigh, after a long pause. He regrets the harshness of his words, admitting to himself he took out his frustration on Francis for things that he cannot be blamed for. Even if the spoiled boy deserved to have some sense shaken into him. “My childhood is the one topic I do not wish to talk about. And now with my mother coming back into my life, everything else – the emotions, the pain – everything I tried to bury as deep as I could, is coming back to the surface… I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Francis. And for that, I am sorry.”

Francis sniffles and forces a smile, before timidly looking up to meet Arno’s gaze. “No, you’re right. I know nothing. And I make a terrible friend,” he adds with a laugh. “But I’m hoping… I’m hoping you can teach me to become better.”

“First lesson: think before you speak,” Arno says with a smile as he gives him a very light fist bump on the shoulder.

Francis laughs a forced heavy breathed laugh, his cheeks turning to crimson once more. _Touché._ “I better go back. Mother will yell at me for being late again, she’s got all these chores for me. I hate it… Oh. I did it again, didn’t I?”

Arno bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “Go home. And say hello to your mother from me.”

“I’ll come back the day after tomorrow,” the teenager says as he hops off the table. He turns around, a contrite look on his face. “Thank you, for everything. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” Arno says with a slight nod.

Francis reaches to grab his jacket, and then throws it over his shoulders. He stops midway, one side of his jacket hanging loose, a sudden question crossing his mind. “Arno? Why did your mother abandon you?”

Arno shrugs, then sighs. “I don’t know yet, she hasn’t said. No doubt I will soon find out.”

Francis nods thoughtfully as he pulls his arm though the other sleeve of his jacket. “And how did your father die?”.

Arno carefully weighs his options: tell the truth, and potentially share more about his past than he originally intended; or continue lying to Francis, as he has done from day one. _Vérités cachées, not lies, as Élise would say._ “My father was murdered,” Arno replies gravely, consciously opting to tell the truth to the boy – to hell with the consequences. If he was to continue with Francis' training, he must be honest with him from this moment on.

Francis gasps in surprise and stammers. “Oh, I…”

“There’s more to me than meets the eye, Francis.”

* * *

Sitting at the head of the table, with François on his lap, Arno helps his son hold his cup of milk and bring it to his hungry mouth. The baby clumsily sips from the cup, milk dripping over his chin and soiling his shirt – and Arno’s breeches, too. Arno lets out an annoyed groan. There is a palpable tension in the air. Even little Julie feels the strain between the adults, losing her appetite completely, only occasionally moving the thick slices of carrots on her plate and plucking at her bread without eating any of it.

“I’ve never seen so many people sitting at our table! We’ll have to find high chairs for the twins, by the way,” Élise says in a forcibly cheerful voice as she helps Charles drink his milk, quickly wiping the dribbling milk from the baby’s chin with a rag.

“Since when are the boys drinking goat milk?” Arno asks as he takes the rag from Élise’s hand to clean François’ face and dab the milk from his breeches.

“Since I was forced to begin weaning them by missing feeds when I was out looking for you,” she retorts dryly.

Her words sting. _Look what you’ve done, Arno,_ he scolds himself. “Oh, I never thought of that, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Arno, it’s fine,” she says in a mellowed tone, feeling sorry for her snide remark. The crease in his brow tells her he on edge, and this is not the occasion to add fuel to the fire, by fear of seeing him running away again. And the last thing she wants is to fight in front of Maria. “It would have had to happen eventually. Let’s not fight over this. Not now.”

Looking to his left, Arno notices his daughter had barely touched her food.

“Julie, eat,” he chides, his voice raised. The little girl’s lips purse into a pout, and she shakes her head. “Fine, mademoiselle, you’re going to bed without eating,” he says, as he takes her plate and moves it away, out of her reach.

“No!” Julie cries in protest, trying to touch her plate.

“Then eat,” he says, pushing the plate back in front of her. “And I won’t say it another time.”

With a quivering lip, Julie takes a slice of carrot and brings it to her mouth to eat it.

Arno lets out a deep sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index and rubs his eyes, trying to ease the tension that was holding him in its grip. He can’t believe he scolded his daughter in front of his mother. _What are you trying to prove?_ he asks himself. _That you’re the authoritarian father that you’re not? And why take out your frustration on Julie? Wasn’t lashing out at Francis already enough? Calm down, for heaven's’ sake!_ After breathing another deep sigh, he turns his attention to his bowl of soup. He was hungry, and juggling feeding a baby and feeding himself was proving to be a challenge, which only exacerbated his appetite – and his impatience.

“Do you want a little piece of bread, Charles?” Élise says to lighten the atmosphere. “Here, try it.” She presents him a small piece of soft bread that she had dipped in her soup. The baby grabs the mushy bread and eagerly chews on it. “It’s good, isn’t it? And one for you, too,” she says with a large smile and a giggle as she presents another small piece of bread to François. The soup-dipped bread is welcomed as eagerly by François as it was by Charles, to Élise’s delight.

Sitting at the foot of the table, Maria is watching the young parents care for their children, a wistful smile on her lips. She thinks back to the times when her son was a baby, with sweet memories of the family she used to have now resurfacing.

“I don’t know how you can tell them apart,” she says, her eyes jumping from Charles to François, and back.

“Sometimes, I have to look twice myself. But they behave very differently: Charles is our mischief-maker, and François is the keen follower. Or better said: Charles is _me_ as a child, while François is undoubtedly Arno. And their eyes – François has one green-brown eye. Charles also has a mark on his shoulder,” Élise says before planting a kiss on top of Charles’ head and presenting him with another small piece of soup-dipped bread, before doing the same for François.

“They are your spitting image, Arno. It’s incredible,” Maria says, looking at Arno, who gives her a half-smile. Nothing like a conversation about his children to ease his tension and boost his ego. From the corner of his eye, he notices Julie is quietly eating the content of her plate, to his relief. He also notices how closely she is observing the adults in between bites, as if trying to gauge the seriousness of their conversation, from all of her 2 years of age. _My little eagle-eyed daughter_.

“That’s exactly what I said to Arno when they were born: if I want to imagine Arno as a baby, all I have to do is look at my boys,” Élise says with a laugh. She reaches out and gently touches Arno’s arm. They exchange smiles and looks, their eyes speaking – _Are you alright?_ – _Yes, I’m fine_.

“Was Arno with you when you gave birth?” Maria asks, leaning her chin on her hand.

“For the twins, yes. Not for Julie.”

“I let myself be pushed aside for my daughter’s birth, but I wasn’t going to sit there and wait for the twins’ birth,” Arno says. He takes Élise’s hand, and looking into her eyes, he speaks with emotion: “I almost lost Élise when she gave birth to Julie, I was terrified of losing her to such a risky birth… If anything was to happen, I would have never forgiven myself. And I didn’t want to miss the first moments of the life of my babies, not this time.”

Élise smiles and he smiles back, their gaze filled with love and adoration for one another, only to have this moment of tenderness interrupted by the babbling and cooing of the twins on their laps, demanding more bread and more milk. With a chuckle, the parents oblige. _Welcome to parenthood._

“Admirable, and a great show of your loving and caring character,” Maria says. The exchange of adoring looks between Arno and Élise didn’t go unnoticed. And that look in Arno’s eyes, that look of love and affection, was all too familiar. “Your father literally shoved the midwife’s assistant aside to be with me. She hit her head on the doorway, the poor thing! Nothing was going to keep him away from witnessing the birth of his precious baby.”

“He was with you? The whole time?” Arno says, a look of surprise on his face. Men being present at the birth of their children was anything but customary, and the thought of his father witnessing his birth never crossed his mind. And shoving the midwife’s assistant out of the way to boot. _Who knew?_

Maria nods, her smile widening. She sees herself again, gripped by the pains of labor and utterly frightened, with Charles’ soothing voice in her ear. “Indeed, he was. He was holding my hand, and encouraging me. Telling me how proud he was of me. And you should have seen the love – and the tears! – in his eyes when he held you in his arms for the first time. I never thought I’d ever see your father cry, he was usually the taciturn and brooding type.”

“Sounds just like someone I know. Who could that be?” Élise says with a chuckle.

Arno shakes his head in disbelief. He was getting to know a whole new side to his father, and he was impatient to know more. “You’ll have to start from the beginning, and tell me how you met Father,” he says. He settles François comfortably in his arms, and leans back in his chair. With a full tummy, the baby is showing signs to wanting to fall asleep.

In Élise’s arms, Charles is babbling and giggling as she gently bounces him on her lap.

The tension from earlier has eased considerably, and interests are piqued.

“Of course,” Maria says. She pauses for a moment, gathering and processing the memories that are tumbling through her mind. “As you already know, I met your father during my novitiate. I was given permission to visit my father for a few days. He had been ill, a simple cold, nothing serious. As I was his only surviving child, out of pity I was allowed to care for him. I was coming back from the market when suddenly I was pushed over by a masked man. I dropped my basket, and I fell – hard. I might have swooned for a few seconds, or even a few minutes, I can’t recall anything at all immediately following my fall. But when I opened my eyes, a pair of gentle, yet worried brown eyes were staring into mine, and a man was speaking to me in atrocious German.”

Arno frowns. This description matched his father to a T, but so was the possibility of his father the Assassin wearing a mask of some sort. “Was he the masked man?”

“No, your father explained to me later that the masked man had stolen something from him, and that he was chasing him. At the time, I didn’t know this would be the first of many lies…”

“A marriage should be built on trust, not lies,” Élise says. She glances at Arno, half-expecting him to pick up on her remark – she lied to him about knowing his father was an Assassin, after all. _Amongst other things_. Either he didn’t hear her, or he chose to ignore her remark, but he doesn’t say a word. He is hanging onto his mother’s every word, a look of fascination on his face.

Maria nods, then sighs. “Very true words, Élise. I was young, so young. And terribly naive. I met your father I was just 20 years old, and he was close to 30 at the time. He was a man, and I was still a girl. I had lived a sheltered convent life, I had no idea about the real world, about love and marriage. And one fine day, out of nowhere comes this intriguing and charismatic man, all the way from France, with his charming smile and his refined manners. Quite frankly, he swept me off my feet, literally. I was infatuated, I was besotted with him.”

“And so was he with you, I gather. What language did you speak together? You said he didn’t speak German very well, and while I can hear your German accent, you speak an excellent French, if I may add,” Arno says. François shifts in his arms, snuggling comfortably into his father’s chest. Arno closes his arms around his son, holding him tightly against him.

This display of affection between father and son makes Maria smile. “I distinguished a French accent in his speech, and switched to French, a language I had studied at the convent. He would still try to speak to me in German, but most times I wouldn’t understand a thing! I don’t know where he learned my language, but it certainly wasn’t in Vienna!” she says with a wistful laughter. “To thank him for rescuing me, I invited him to my father’s house. My father took a dislike to him on sight. Because he was French. My father despised France and anything French following the succession war, and he ranted and rambled, on and on, about how the war ruined our country, and the French should have stayed home and minded their own business. All this time, your father didn’t even raise an eyebrow. He remained perfectly composed, and he did his utmost to show his charming side, and speak in his best German, but all these efforts would only further irk my father. After the meal, in secret, we agreed to meet again the following day, at the same place where he rescued me.”

Arno nods, his brow furrowed. “Grandfather clearly wouldn’t have approved of you meeting Father again...” he says thoughtfully. As Maria paints the picture, he begins to understand the complexity of the relationships between his father, his grandfather, and her mother. Didn’t he constantly fear François de la Serre’s rejection himself? “You’re not suitable to be my daughter’s husband,” is what he feared to hear the most. _And as it turned out, I didn’t even need to ask_ , he thinks to himself in sweet bitterness.

“He certainly would not have approved,” Maria says with a puffed laugh. “I felt terrible for lying to my father about where I was going, but I had to see Charles again. We met several times the days that followed. He would take me to a café, or we’d walk along the Danube, and he’d tell me about his business, the countries he had visited. Lies, lies… Each night I would pray to God for forgiveness, for the lies I was telling to my father, and for coming dangerously close to renouncing my vow of devoting my life to Him. I was deeply ashamed of these emotions and those sinful thoughts your father had awaken in me. Yet, at the same time, what were the odds of meeting such a wonderful man, I wondered? This couldn’t be anything else than a positive sign that God existed, as only Him could have put Charles on my path.” She leans back into her chair and crosses her hands on her lap. “A week later, Charles told me he had to go back to France. His commercial mission, as he told me, was over. Lies, lies… I was due to go back to the convent the day after, something I was now dreading more than anything. And before I could stop myself, I asked him to take me with him.”

“What did he say?” Arno says with a large grin.

“His response was: ‘Will you marry me, then? Please say yes!’”

“Father certainly didn’t beat around the bush,” Arno laughs, shaking his head. “You barely knew one another. You should have known better, _he_ should have known better.”

“Isn’t it incredibly romantic, though? I’m a fervent supporter of spontaneous marriage proposals, and it appears they are running in the family,” Élise says, grinning from ear to ear. She exchanges knowing looks with Arno, who is still shaking his head in disbelief.

“Anyone could have seen this marriage was destined to fail. Except your father and I,” Maria admits regretfully. “The next day, I said goodbye to my father, pretending I was going back to the convent. Instead, I left with all my belongings – a couple of simple dresses that were far too cold for the season, a bible, and a book of prayers – bundled in a piece of cloth. I met your father three streets further, stepped inside his carriage, and left with him for a long journey towards France.”

Arno’s eyes widen in surprise and he breathes out a chuckle, baffled by what he is hearing. “And you left. Just like that.”

“I did,” Maria says with a nod of acknowledgement, aware this reckless behavior was anything but characteristic of the modest and obedient girl she was before she met Charles Dorian. “I knew the nuns at the convent would be looking for me, I knew my father would be looking for me. I simply didn’t care. I was in love, and for once in my life, I was free.”

“I completely understand this need for freedom,” Élise says. Without a doubt, escaping life at the convent must have felt like escaping her Palais de la Misère. “Who would want to live such an austere life, anyway?”

“When was that?” Arno asks, trying to situate his parents’ first meeting in time.

“Early November 1767. Three weeks later, we were married in a small church in Besançon, of all places. On that day, the little girl called Maria ceased to exist, and the woman called Marie was born. Marie-Antoinette isn’t the only Austrian to have worn a different name while in France, you know,” Maria adds with a note of pride in her voice. “And by Christmas, I found out I was with child. To be blessed by a baby so soon, I couldn’t have been happier. And your father was overjoyed. If there was ever any doubt in your mind, Arno, please rest assured: you were wanted, and loved, and your father and I couldn’t be more delighted to welcome you to the world as our son,” she says, her voice quivering with emotion. She hastily pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it to her mouth to muffle a sob.

These words, these five words Arno had been craving to hear for more than two decades – _you were wanted, and loved_ – bring tears to his eyes. At once, his heart swells in his chest. He meets his mother’s blue gaze, teary, tender, and loving. _If you loved me so much, why did you leave?_ he wants to ask her, but he keeps silent. There will be another occasion for answers to this burning question. For the time being, this admission of love is what he chooses to cling to. It will never erase years of yearning and pain, but his wounds will finally be able to start healing. “That’s good to hear...” he manages to say with a smile, choking back his tears.

Silence falls at the table. With a warm smile, Élise touches Arno’s arm. _I’m here_ , her eyes tell him. He returns her smile and she sweeps her fingers across his face to wipe a tear that had rolled on his cheek.

“Papa, papa, all done.”

The sudden interruption of this heartwarming moment by Julie proudly announcing she finished her plate causes everyone to laugh.

“Very good, Julie. Papa is proud of you,” Arno says, gently brushing his thumb on her cheek.

“Shall we put the children to bed? It’s getting rather late…” Élise says with a discreet yawn. The twins are sound asleep in their parents’ arms, and it’s well passed Julie’s bedtime. The messy kitchen will have to wait until the morning, as Élise is craving the plush comfort of her bed. And Arno’s arms, too.  _Oh, and sweet, delightful release from all this tension,_ she blushes, biting her lip.

“We can continue tomorrow, I suppose,” Maria says. “I am tired, I have to admit. It’s been a long day, and pulling all those memories from where I buried them is very draining...”

“Yes, let’s continue tomorrow.” Arno gets up from his chair, and while he holds a slumbering François with one arm, he pulls Julie out of her high chair with the other. “Julie, will you give oma Maria a hug and a kiss goodnight?”

The little girl nods holding her arms in front of her.

“G’night, oma,” Julie says with a wide smile, wrapping her little arms around her grandmother’s neck.

“Goodnight, my little girl. We’ll see each other tomorrow. Tomorrow is a special day, or so I heard. And goodnight to you both, my little ones,” she whispers to Charles and François.

“Goodnight, mama,” Arno says as he leans in to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. “God only knows how much I want to hug you, but I have my arms full with children,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Arms filled with children suits you very well. Goodnight, my son,” Maria says, gently placing a hand on his cheek.

* * *

Night has fallen on the mountains, and the children are asleep, marking the end of what proved to be an emotional day. Élise lights up a candle on her nightstand and undresses quietly. Arno is already lying in bed and stares at the ceiling, deep in thought.

She sits at the edge of the bed, and unties her braid, quickly running her fingers through her hair to loosen and fluff it. A whiff of her perfume comes to his nose, and he turns his head to look at her. From where he was lying, in the semi-darkness, he could only see the curvy silhouette of her waist and her hips, and her wild red hair cascading all the way down to the small of her back. _And what a beautiful sight that is_ , he thinks to himself with a smile.

“I hope you’ll remember your mother’s words whenever you feel like the whole world is abandoning you,” Élise says as she takes the brush on her nightstand and glides it through her hair.

“What words?” he asks as casually as he can, taking his eyes back to staring at the ceiling. He knew very well which words she meant, for they were resonating in his head since he heard his mother pronounce them. And while his doubts about never being loved were shattered upon hearing the words he had been longing to hear all his life, one doubt remained – one shadow of a doubt at the back of his mind, and he couldn’t get rid of it.

She puts the brush down, and after blowing the candle out, she slips under the sheets with a contented hum. “That you were loved. And wanted,” she says as she moves closer to him and presses her body against his, with a hand on his chest. She can feel the thump-thumping of his heart under her touch.

He slips his arm around her neck, pulling her even closer. He needed the comfort of her soft body against his, he needed to nuzzle her hair and smell her intoxicating perfume, if only to regain his composure and find the courage to speak.

“I want nothing more than to believe her, but how can she be saying she loved the child she abandoned?” he finally says after a long pause.

“Only your mother has the answer to this question, my love. You’ll have to find the courage to ask her,” she says as she plants soft kisses on his chest and on his collarbone.

“And why would my grandfather not know about me? Why did she hide the existence of her child to her father?”

She pauses her kisses and props her head on her arm to gaze into his eyes. “She wouldn’t be the first one to hide things from her father. I went to England without my father’s consent. I bluntly lied to him in my letters, telling him my studies were going well, while in reality, I was on a ship crossing the Channel.”

“Lying to your father about a trip to England isn’t quite the same as lying to your father about having a child, Élise.”

“A trip to England to track my mother’s assailant, during which I ended up killing May, which in turn caused more harm than good with regard to the feud between my family and the Carroll’s, the scar under my navel one of the many proofs of this fact,” she retorts indignantly. She sighs, then continues. “You are right, it isn’t the same as bearing a child and then hiding his existence, but we all have our reasons to lie – valid reasons or not. She did say her relationship with her father was complicated. He clearly didn’t approve of your father. She left on a whim. Can you imagine the shame and humiliation when she came back to Austria, whatever the circumstances of this return were? Maybe she was waiting for the right moment, but the right moment never came.”

“Never a right moment? _In twenty long years_?” he sneers and huffs in frustration. “And in her usual last-minute fashion, she admitted to having a child just before he died. The same way she went to look for me once she learned her days were counted. Typical.”

“It’s easy for us to judge, my love, we weren’t there,” she says in a reassuring voice, before laying her head on his shoulder and snuggling close. “We don’t know who your grandfather was. Maybe it was better that he didn’t know.”

“I suppose you’re right…” he says with a deep, loud sigh.

“See? Talking helps,” she says with a teasing smile while her fingers trace patterns on his stomach.

He smiles and kisses her forehead affectionately, drawing her even closer and embracing her with both arms. “I love you,” he murmurs. He breathes deeply of her, burrowing his nose in her hair and letting the soothing warmth spread through his body as he inhaled her scent.

“I love you, too. Never doubt that, my love,” she says softly, enjoying the pleasant strength of his arms around her.

She tilts her head back to look at him, her green eyes glittering with warmth. She smiles and smiles too, and their lips join for a tender kiss.

“And thank you,” he says after a moment.

“What for?”

“For bringing me back home. Even if I don’t know what to think of what I’m hearing.”

“I had to bring you back, I can’t possibly do this without you – the children, the farm. And I’m here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

The nights they spent alone – Élise with the children and Arno up on his mountain – are fading into a distant memory. If there was one sliver of a silver lining to the heartache of them being apart, if there was one conclusion to be drawn from their suffering, is that he was hers as much as she was his. _We are still better together than apart._ Two halves making a whole. For a long time, he had been the _better_ half, pulling more than his weight in the balance to carry them both through their new life, while she reconstructed herself. And now, it was her turn to be the better half, to take his hand and open her arms to offer him shelter, to stand tall and strong while they weather this storm, this evening merely the beginning.

As she presses her open mouth firmly against his, she lets her hand glide over his chest, and her fingers sink into his hair. Rolling onto her back, she pulls him over with her. And there, in the comfort of her embrace and in the heated cradle of her hips, as they merge into one, he finds a bit of solace.


	28. Parentage (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SO DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER. 
> 
> It’s been a race to finish it the past few days, before 2016 ends, so I can finallly, finally put it behind me, start with a fresh mind in 2017, and give you the rest of Maria’s story...
> 
> Let’s all give Arno a hug. He deserves one. And Papa!Arno gives me life...
> 
> Apologies if this isn’t my best work, I still hope you’ll enjoy it!
> 
> *** Save a writer -- leave a comment! ***

**April 18, 1797**

With a sigh, Arno slips out of Élise’s snug embrace, being careful not to wake her. She is holding him like a tigress seizing her prey; peaceful and content, he quickly fell asleep in her comforting arms after their lovemaking. But he woke up in the middle of the night with his mind racing, and the warmth of her body pressed against his, her soft breath on his neck, and her delicate fingers spread across his stomach as she holds him tight fail to bring him any comfort. As he dresses himself, he watches her stir and roll over to the other side, tucking the covers under her chin. He put his knee on the bed and leans down to softly kiss her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers. He wasn’t sure if she was awake or still sleeping, but he felt the urge to thank her: for being there, for loving him, for comforting him.

He tiptoes down to the study, grimacing each time the wood floor cracks under his feet, fearful the sudden noises will wake up his entire sleeping family.

After closing the door with precaution, he lights up a candle, and pulls his notebook from her the pile, as he did so many times in the past when in need of clearing his mind and expressing his feelings.

> _My dear Papa,_
> 
> _When I begged you to give me a sign, to lead me towards answers about Mama’s disappearance, never in a million years did I expect her to show up on my doorstep. To say it was a shock would be an understatement._
> 
> _I can’t understand how Mama can affirm that she loves me, and in the same breath admit that she abandoned me. It doesn’t make sense! A loving parent cannot abandon their children. And yet..._
> 
> _Papa, it’s with great shame that I confess I abandoned my own family. I left my family behind, I ran away. I bitterly regret my reaction when I saw Mama for the first time since she abandoned us, I regret that my dear children and my dear Élise had to suffer because I couldn’t endure my own suffering anymore. That makes me no better than Mama, doesn’t it? Perhaps Mama was in pain, too? But why? Didn’t you treat her well, didn’t you love her? What could have possibly happened that made her run away? And why did she never tell my grandfather that she had a child – me?_
> 
> _I have decided to give Mama a chance to explain. I must forgive her, I need to heal this wound around my heart. For my children’s sake, as they don’t deserve to suffer because their father is suffering. And I must forgive her before it’s too late. Mama is dying, Papa. You will soon be reunited with her. I wish with all my heart that this reunion will be a happy one, as I hope you will have forgiven her, too._
> 
> _I’ve been hearing a lot about you, since Mama has started to tell me her story. Things I never suspected of you, but her words warmed my heart and my soul nonetheless, because it confirmed one thing: I am your son. There seems to be a lot of you in the way I behave, in the way I wanted to be present when my children were born, even in the way I spontaneously asked Élise to marry me._
> 
> _Even if you’re not on this Earth anymore, you are still here, within me._
> 
> _I love you, Father. And I miss you._
> 
> _Forever your son,_
> 
> _A_ _rno_

* * *

At dawn, Arno is covering the fussy twins’ cheeks with good morning kisses as he brings them to Élise, the morning feed being one of the last nursing moments Élise is holding on to. She doesn’t want her babies to grow out of it entirely just yet, she selfishly wants her babies to remain babies for a little bit longer.

“You were up most of the night, I heard you get out of bed and go downstairs,” Élise says as he sits down next to her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, gently caressing the twins’ heads.

“If you need–”

“Yes, if I need to talk, I know. Not now,” he says curtly. He lets out a deep sigh. He didn’t want to talk about his mother, he didn’t want to _think_ about his mother. “Why are you wincing like that?” he adds with a chuckle.

“Because I have two sets of little teeth biting into me,” she moans with a contorted grin. Amused by their mother’s yelps, the boys giggle. “Auw, my little gluttons! It is high time to switch you to big boys’ food. And don’t you laugh now, this isn’t funny. It hurts!” With an exaggerated grumble and a laugh, she leans to kiss the top of their heads. No, she didn’t want to let go of these moments with her babies, not yet. _They are growing up so fast!_

“It’s Julie’s birthday today. Two years old,” Arno says wistfully.

“Our baby girl is not a baby anymore,” she says with a smile. “That look of adoration on your face when you saw her for the first time, it made me forget everything I had to go through to give you this baby. You were so happy.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you, I should have fought harder to be by your side.” Now that he knows that his father was present at his birth, the remorse he felt from not being present when Julie was born has reemerged.

“Arno, it’s in the past,” she says softly. “And I was never angry at you because you weren’t with me. You’re always carrying so much guilt, for things you have nothing to feel guilty about.” She places a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, turning his head to kiss her palm.

“Speaking of the birthday girl…” Arno laughs as he hears Julie calling him from her room.

Élise yawns and stretches her arms, careful to not disturb the babies at her breasts. “You can bring her here. I feel particularly tired this morning, I think I’ll stay in bed for a little while and cuddle with the children before I get up and bring your mother her breakfast… And clean the kitchen… And take care of this mountain of dirty nappies… And the garden needs some work as well...” She closes her eyes and lays her head back on her pillow, letting out a groan. “Just thinking about it, I’m already sapped of all energy.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he asks with a frown.

She opens her eyes in surprise and lets out a snort. “Ha! No, I can assure you that I’m not.”

He gives her a half-smile. “Oh, right.”

“It's not… I'm not…” She blushes, then chuckles. “You would have obviously noticed, last night. But I can assure you that I'm not pregnant. You almost sound disappointed, if I may add,” she says with a smirk.

He shakes his head. “I'm actually relieved. Now is not the right time for another baby. I don’t want another baby, not with my mother...” Looking into her eyes, he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “Wait, you want another baby, is that it?”

Her eyes widen as her smirk vanishes. “I never said I want another baby, what made you think…?” she retorts indignantly with a melodramatic huff.

She bites her lip. Maybe she exaggerated a little too much, in an effort to hide her true feelings, that she _does_ want another baby. Not now _now_ , but perhaps… soon? The idea had been slowly growing in her mind. A little baby to give Arno his smile back, a little baby to have something positive to look forward to, instead of only goodbyes and death. A little baby kicking and leaping about in her belly, a sweet-smelling and soft-skinned little baby to cuddle. Another little portrait of Arno, or maybe a little portrait of herself this time, with big green eyes?

 _What’s happening to me? Since when do I_ want _to become pregnant? Not long ago, I wouldn’t even have considered having children, and here am I, thinking about baby number four. Am I simply nostalgic because my babies are growing up, or do I really want another child? And why can’t Arno and I ever want a baby at the same time?_

She sighs deeply in disappointment. “I'm not pregnant, I'm simply exhausted,” she continues in a disheartened tone. “The last week has been a whirlwind, and I am drained from all energy.” She tears her gaze from his and looks down at the twins, their little hands twiddling with locks of her hair, François holding onto it even tighter than his older brother. _Another baby can wait, I guess. When we’re both ready._

He notices the sudden melancholic look on her face, and his own expression softens. _She_ does _want another baby_ , he thinks to himself. “My love, you know I want many children, but now is not a good time, I’m sorry,” he says softly. “You’re already working yourself too hard, how are you going to cope with another baby? When the twins are a bit older...”

Another loud cry from Julie. Their little mademoiselle will not tolerate waiting for much longer.

“When do you want to speak to Maria again?” Élise asks in an attempt to deviate the conversation.

His jaw tenses at the mention of his mother. “Preferably after dinner, when the children are in bed. Make sure there is wine on the table, and plenty of it. I think I’ll need it…” he replies with a loud sigh.

“Wine will not solve anything, you should know that by now.”

“I’m not in the mood for lectures, Élise.”

“Fine, I’ll buy some wine this afternoon, I need to go to the village to exchange books with Henriette anyway.”

“Be careful, make sure no one follows you,” he says, giving her a worried look before leaving the room. “Yes, Julie, papa is coming!”

* * *

Balancing a snuggly François on her hip and the breakfast basket in her hand, Élise knocks on the guest house's door. After morning cuddles, giggles, and tickles, she washed, dressed, and fed the children, before leaving Charles and Julie with Arno. Their daughter eagerly accepted to help her father and Brioche lead the herd, as chasing the bouncing kids who stubbornly try to escape was by far her favorite game.

A well-rested Maria opens the door. She had tied her grey hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and despite wearing her rather drab dress, she was glowing. The fact that she had been able to speak with Arno and tell her story, brought her great comfort, and even greater hopes for a reconciliation. “Good morning, Élise. Oh, and you brought a little one with you. I can’t tell them apart, I’m sorry! Good morning, who are you?” she says as she takes the basket from Élise’s hands: fresh bread, fresh milk, boiled eggs, and little pot of lavender honey.

Élise tilts her head at her son and smiles. “This is François, and this little boy was very clingy this morning. I thought we could go visit grandmama Maria together and bring her breakfast, while his sister and his brother are with their papa. Right, mon p’tit chou?” She kisses her little boy on the forehead and playfully squeezes him. With a bashful grin, François nods and cuddles back into his mother’s chest, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

“He’s not sick, I hope?” Maria asks, looking adoringly at him.

“I don’t think so,” Élise says. She places a hand on his forehead to check for a fever, and then shakes her head. “By the way he grips my chest, I think he simply misses being nursed, and all the cuddling with mama before and after. You’ve got your papa’s big brown puppy eyes, and you know mama can’t resist them. That’s how you got yourself extra cuddles this morning!” she adds with another playful squeeze.

“Arno was sucking on his thumb too when he was little.”

“Ah ha! See? I knew you and your big sister got this from your father, I just knew it,” Élise says as she plants kisses on François’ forehead, just below his dark brown soft hair, inhaling her baby's scent. Only by his smell, she could tell this was François in her arms, and not Charles. _Mother’s instinct._

“How is _my_ boy?” Maria asks hesitantly. “He seemed in a good mood when we parted ways for the night...”

“He’s conflicted. He’s been brooding a good part of the night,” Élise replies with a half-smile. “I felt he was a bit more distant this morning, as if he once again retreated in his own mind. What you said, yesterday… When you said he was loved… He’s been yearning to hear this for decades. At the same time, there’s a part of him that cannot understand how it is possible that you left the child you love behind.”

“My abandoning the family home had more to do with the end of my marriage with his father, than how I truly felt about my son. And… other factors played a role as well.”

“And still, you abandoned Arno, and you’ve even hidden his existence from your own father upon returning to Austria,” Élise says with contempt, her head cocked to the side. “You’ll have a lot of explaining to do for Arno to ever forgive you. The wound is deep, very deep.”

Maria purses her lips, and exhales in annoyance. “I have made many mistakes, Élise. I never stopped thinking about my son, and I never stopped loving him. And as I said before, I’m not asking for Arno’s forgiveness, I’m only hoping for a little bit of understanding. God is the only judge of my actions, He decides whether or not I deserve forgiveness.”

Élise swallows hard, realizing she went too far and allowed her own pain and anger to seep through her words. _Be the better person, do this for Arno. Maria deserves a chance to explain,_ she repeats herself. “My apologies, Maria, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“I understand you are only trying to defend Arno,” Maria says with a faint smile. “Attacking anyone who dares come too close, that’s your way of protecting him.”

Élise smiles, reminiscing on memories from her childhood with Arno. Yes, that’s the way she always protected him. From the first day he came to live with her family, she wedged herself between Arno and all potential threats, and would verbally – and physically – attack anyone who would make fun of him for his status as their ward or anyone who would try to approach him. It’s not that Arno couldn’t defend himself, he was taller and stronger than her after all, and quite fearless once he would overcome his initial shyness and hesitation. But as the oldest, she felt responsible for his well-being, she felt it was her duty as “the big sister” to be the leader, and to defend and protect him. And he didn’t seem to mind.

“I will attack whoever does him wrong, and I will defend him with my life, that is very true,” Élise says with pride. “I am obviously on his side, but I am also on yours. Arno said he will speak to you again this evening, after dinner. In the meantime, you are free to come to our house and help me with the children, and you are welcome at our table, should you wish to join us. Or if you prefer to rest, I will bring you another basket later this afternoon. And Arno will come fetch you when he is ready to talk.”

“You know I can’t refuse helping you with the children,” Maria says with a large grin.

“Then it’s settled,” Élise says, returning her smile. “I need to go to the village this afternoon, I’m sure the boys and Julie would love a story time with their grandmother while I’m away. Say goodbye to grandmama,” she says to François, before turning back to Maria. “What’s the German word for grandmother? Oma, wasn’t it?”

Maria nods with a laugh. “Yes, oma. Can you say that, François? Oma?”

“Repeat after mama, François: oma!” Élise says, gently squeezing her baby boy to encourage him.

“Ooma,” François repeats, quickly turning and hiding his face in his mother’s chest, giggling and peeking shyly at Maria from the corner of his eyes.

“Auf Wiedersehen, kleiner Junge! [Goodbye, little boy!]” Maria says, waving at her grandson, who returns the gesture.

* * *

Élise quickens her pace, glancing furtively over her shoulder. Arno’s warning about taking care to not being followed is ringing in her mind. Wherever she looks, she doesn’t notice any suspicious activity. The town is bustling, but never as busy as Paris, where hiding in a crowd is easy for anyone looking commit a crime. Many villagers are simply strolling about, others are driving carts through the narrow streets. _I’m not being followed_ , she thinks to herself, breathing a sigh of relief. At this right moment, her own safety was the least of her worries. With Sophie pulling out of the clandestine’s school by fear of reprisals or even punishment, she felt all the more responsible for Henriette and Claudine’s safety. Fostering their independence should not come at a cost they weren’t prepared to pay.

At the agreed time, she spots Henriette planted at a street corner a hundred feet away, pretending to be rearranging the supplies in her basket.

Upon reaching her, Élise greets her friend, discreetly enough not to draw any attention to them. They exchange knowing looks and in the blink of an eye, the books Élise was carrying in her basket change hands, and are inconspicuously hidden in Henriette’s basket under a loaf of bread and fabric remnants. After the swift book exchange, the two women begin walking towards the end of the street.

“How are you doing? Arno is back, I heard,” Henriette says matter-of-factly. In reality, she was impatient to hear what happened the week before. In the village, rumor has it that Arno and Élise had a fight, but Henriette didn’t believe a single word of it.

Élise nods. “Yes, he is.”

“What happened? I don't mean to pry, but…”

“It’s a long story,” Élise says with a sigh. Could she trust Henriette? Sooner or later, the identity of the stranger staying at La Concorde’s guesthouse would be whispered about all over the village. There were already enough false rumors circulating about Arno’s sudden disappearance, she might as well stop the tongues from wagging. “The traveler, she’s… The traveler is Arno’s mother.”

Henriette chokes out a cough of disbelief. “Wow, I would have never… I never thought…” she stammers, shaking her head. “Well, that still doesn’t explain why he would take off on a whim.”

“All I know is that she abandoned him when he was a little boy – I have no idea why. And now that she is gravely ill, she travelled all the way here to be reunited with her son before she dies.”

“Awww, I’m so sorry to hear, the poor Arno, my heart goes out to him. I understand now, seeing his mother reappearing must have been quite a shock!”

“That’s an understatement, to say the least…” Élise says with a half-smile. “Henriette, I’m afraid I have to suspend the lessons for a little while, maybe a few weeks. The return of the prodigal mother is turning our family’s life upside down, and my head is not into it at the moment. Once things have settled a little...”

Henriette lays a reassuring hand on Élise’s arm. “Don’t worry, my friend. I perfectly understand. I’ve said it plenty of times, and I mean every word of it: if you need help with anything – anything – do not hesitate a single second. You’ve given me so much, the least I can do is offer my support in return, in any way that I can. And I know for certain Claudine feels the same.”

Hearing the words _my friend_ moved Élise to tears. Friend? She never had friends, she never was a friend to anyone either. Except Arno, perhaps. _Trust no one_ , she was told. And ever since faith had them settle in Sisteron, she encountered so much kindness, that sometimes she has a hard time believing it. Fabian, Marcera, Clara. Marianne. And now Henriette and Claudine. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to call upon your generous offer,” she says, forcing a large smile onto her lips.

“Do you need clothes mended? Or a new shirt for your dear husband? I’m sure you don’t have time to make one right now. Oh! I know! Perhaps Arno’s mother would like a cozy blanket? She barely has any flesh on her bones, she looks so ill. It’s only April, nights are still cold and damp in the mountains,” Henriette says with excitement.

Her friend’s enthusiasm is contagious, and Élise can’t help but laugh. “You are too kind, I don’t know what to say...”

“Leave it all to me.”

Élise nods, and Henriette breaks in a wide grin.

“I better go back, I left the children with Maria – Arno’s mother,” Élise says. “And I need to get to work in our vegetable garden if we want to eat next winter.”

“I appreciate you giving me these,” Henriette says, pointing at her basket. “I’ll be sure to read them. And maybe I can drop by your house in a few days? Just for tea, and maybe talk a little bit? Antoine would love to see the kitten Julie picked for him, and if I can give you a hand with anything...”

“Of course, I’ll be happy to see you.” The two women hug each other as they part. “Henriette, besides Claudine and Sophie, who else knows about our little clandestine school?” Élise asks all of a sudden in a low voice, almost a whisper.

“No one, as far as I’m aware. Well, obviously, Sophie’s husband knows. But that’s it.”

“Right, thank you…” Élise nods pensively, lost in thoughts. Despite the storm of the past few days, Freddie’s last letter never left her mind.

“Élise? What’s wrong?”

Élise glances around, making sure no one can hear them. “An old friend of mine, who lives in Paris, has heard of it. And I’m trying to find out who talked.”

“Arno, perhaps?” Henriette suggests. “I haven’t told anyone, I swear!”

Élise shakes her head. “No, it can’t be Arno. Unless he’s started a secret correspondence with this... friend, which I doubt. Or maybe he did…” She gets lost in her thoughts again, walking away from Henriette.

“Take care of yourself, dear Élise,” Henriette says.

Élise turns to her friend and smiles, before turning around and heading back home. She’d have to ask Arno if he has anything to do with Freddie knowing. And preferably soon.

* * *

Arno relentlessly punches the sand bag hanging from the ceiling of the training room, driven by a need for release of energy. His knuckles are sore and bruised despite the rags he wrapped around them, his chest is burning from the effort, but the pain is almost comforting in its familiarity.

A faint tapping sound on the door startles him. He stops punching to listen to the sound, avoiding at the last moment being hit by the bag swaying back.

“Papa!” the voice a little girl calls from outside.

He runs to the door and as he swiftly opens it, Julie loses her balance and falls on hands and knees in the doorway. She looks up to her father, her face scrunched as she tries not to cry.  

“Julie, what are you doing here?” he says as he pulls her back up on her feet. He crouches down on one knee to check her legs for scrapes – nothing but a bit of dirt. Taking her little hands in his, he blows the dust away and kisses her palms to chase the pain. “Where’s Mama?” he says while gently rubbing her hands with his thumbs.

“Mama’s house,” she says. The little girl is staring at her hands in her father’s hands, a smile gradually appearing on her lips.

He chuckles, kissing her palms one more time before letting go of her hands. “Mama is _home_ , not house. Does Mama know you’re here?” Julie shakes her head. “Of course, she doesn’t...”

“Wanna play, Papa,” Julie says, waving her arms out.

“But Papa has to train, and then go back to work. And I have to bring you back home immediately, otherwise Mama will be really worried.”

She juts her lower lip out in a pout. “Play wi’ yo’ Papa…”

“Fine, you can watch me for a little bit. Only for a little bit.” Without wasting a single second, the toddler runs towards the table, to Arno’s horror. “Julie, no! Don’t touch the sword, you’ll hurt yourself, it’s dangerous.” He runs after her and scoops her into his arms before she can reach the table. “This sword is too big for you,” he says. Holding Julie against him with one arm, he curls his fingers around the hilt of his sword before lifting it. Julie’s wide-open eyes follow the swift action of the shiny blade cutting the air as he waves it, a look of fascination and amazement on her face. “But I know Mama is keeping a sword just for you,” he continues. “A very special one. It was Mama’s sword when she was a little girl, and it was given to her by her mother. When you’ll be big enough, she’ll give it to you. And then you can play with Papa and Mama.”

He takes a few steps to the side to lay the sword back on the wall stand.

“Wat dis?” Julie asks, pointing with her finger at the other weapons on the wall. Her eyes are roving from one to the other, as if mesmerized by the lavish details on some of them.

“This is a rifle. You can use it for hunting.” _Or for killing people, but let’s not elaborate on this for now,_ he thinks to himself. “Maybe we could go hunting together when you’re older?”

Julie nods slightly, her little index finger on her lower lip. She has no idea what _hunting_ means, but if it’s something like playing, and if she can do this hunting thing with her father, she was very interested.

A thought suddenly crosses Arno’s mind.

“Sweet Pea, how did you know I was here?”

Julie gives her father a confused look, not quite understanding his question.

“Did you see me? Did you _see_ I was inside the barn?”

She flashes a big baby-teeth grin and nods.

He raises an eyebrow in surprise, part of him almost in shock, part of him almost refusing to acknowledge that his daughter could have already started using her Eagle Vision. _Did she really…? Isn’t it a bit soon?_ “Let’s go back home. Mama is going to wonder where you are,” he says as he hurries out of the training room.

Meanwhile, Élise is frantically looking for Julie in and around the garden. “This isn’t funny, Julie. Where are you?” she grumbles as she checks every corner of the ground floor of the house. The crawling twins are at her feet, following their mother’s every step, and she must pay close attention not to trample their little hands as she searches for her daughter. _You don’t want to add screaming babies to a missing toddler situation, do you?_ she thinks to herself. The last time she glanced behind her back, with both feet in the soft turf as she was planting vegetables, all three children were quietly playing on the grass. From the corner of her eye, she caught Charles standing on his own a quarter of an hour later, but when she turned her head completely to congratulate her son, only two pairs of brown eyes were gazing back at her. Julie was missing.

“There she is!” Élise groans as she sees Arno heading towards her, holding their daughter in his arms. She is relieved their daughter is unharmed and well, but fear and anger are still twisting her stomach on a knot. “Julie, I told you to stay in the garden. You’ve been a bad girl, Mama is _not_ happy.”

Expecting nothing else than Élise’s overreaction, Arno attempts to change the conversation. “She saw me,” he says as he bends to put Julie down.

“Not now, Arno,” Élise hisses with an angry look. She crouches to her knees, seizing Julie by the shoulders and glaring straight into her daughter’s contrite eyes. “You did not have permission to go outside the garden, mademoiselle. If I tell you to stay in the garden, you stay in the garden. Do you understand?”

With a whimper, Julie nods. She writhes a little, her mother’s tight grip and hard glare too uncomfortable to bear. “Now say you’re sorry,” Élise continues, not tearing her gaze from her daughter’s.

“Élise, she only wanted to be with me,” Arno says.

“Sowwy, mama,” Julie cries softly. Her eyelashes, wet with tears, frame her dark brown eyes.

“Apology accepted,” Élise says in a softened tone. _I did it again, I lost my patience, and I made my daughter cry. What kind of mother does that make me? She’s two years old! It’s her birthday! Calm down, Élise. Breathe._ Fighting her own tears – tears of guilt – she hugs her sobbing daughter tightly. “I’m sorry, Julie Bunny. I’m sorry. Mama didn’t mean to yell at you, I was really worried something had happened to you. You can go play, but do not wander off, is that clear?” Julie nods and sniffles. After another hug from her mother, she trots back to the garden.

“What were you talking about?” Élise says as she watches Julie sit on her knees next to her baby brothers.

“She found me,” he says quietly, taking Élise aside. “I was inside the barn – the training room. The door was closed. She had no way of knowing I was there. And yet, she was calling out for me as she was trying to push the door open.”

“What are you trying to say?” Élise asks in a loud whisper. In fact, she knew very well what he was trying to say, but she couldn’t believe her ears.

“She _saw_ me, Élise. I asked her – I asked her if she saw me while I was inside. And she said she did.”

She gasps, glancing at their daughter. Julie is sulking, pulling strands of grass from the lawn and ignoring her brothers’ babbling. Élise wonders if she’s trying to concentrate on her parents’ conversation. “Isn’t she a bit young? She’s merely a toddler! How old were you…?” _How old were you when you started seeing other people through walls?_ she wanted to ask. But even knowing about the Assassins’ heightened senses, and having witnessed Arno display his own skills, didn’t make it sound any more ridiculous when articulated into words. _And apparently,_ you _can see into the future. Who’s sounding ridiculous now?_ she thinks to herself with a chuckle.

“I don’t remember exactly,” Arno says with a shrug. As much as he tried, he couldn’t remember any deciding moment, the skills and heightened senses gradually becoming a part of him as he grew up. It’s only later that he learned what they were, how to control them, and how to take advantage of them.

“We’ll have to watch what we do behind closed doors from now on,” Élise says with a large grin. “And it’s completely useless to be whispering like that, since we know she can hear us.”

“I’m still not entirely sure she has the skills, I’d need to test her some more,” he says in an overly serious tone. He turns to observe Julie as she joins her brothers and tries to explain whatever game she was inventing on the spot to eager little ears.

From behind, Élise slips her arm around his waist, and in turn, he slips his arm around her shoulder. “Of course you’re sure she has the skills,” she says. “You’re beaming. You’re beaming with pride,”

“I suppose I am,” he says, blushing. He couldn’t deny it, he was incredibly proud of his daughter, and impatient to see how her skills would develop in the future. He almost finds himself wishing she would grow up a little faster, so keen is he to find out how skilled Julie really is. _There’s plenty of time for this,_ he scolds himself. _Let your daughter be a child first._

Élise chuckles. He has this look of pride and adoration in his eyes, the same look he had from the first moment he had laid his eyes on his daughter. “It’s adorable. And I have something else that’s adorable to show you, come with me!”

“Élise, I have to go back to work…” he protests as she takes his hand and drags him to the garden. The sooner he was finished with work, the sooner he could be with his children. And with his mother, too. So many questions he wants to ask, so many things he wants to know.

“It’s important!” She lets go of his hand, stepping briskly towards the children. “François, Charles! Let’s show your papa what you can do!”

After apologizing to Julie for interrupting their game, she bends down and pulls her sons up on their feet, and holds each by one hand, Charles standing little taller than François.

Arno approaches the twins and crouches a few feet in front of them.

“They can stand now, look! And they can… almost… walk!”

Élise takes one step forward and gently pulls their arm along, and the twins follow her movement by taking a very tentative step, followed by another, before falling on their bottoms.

As he watches his sons take their first aided steps, another milestone in the young life of the twins, Arno’s heart swells with pride, once again. He opens his arms, and the boys crawl into them. “Well done, my boys!” he says as he circles his arms tightly around them. “Papa is so proud of you. And soon you’ll be able to run, and climb, and with your big sister, we’re going to have so much fun!” He gives the twins another hug, and affectionate kisses on the top of their heads, before reluctantly getting up to his feet.

“Told you it was important,” she says with a smirk, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yes, it was,” he admits with an impossibly large grin.

“Arno? Can I ask you something?” she asks out of the blue.

“I really must go back to work, can it wait?”

She is dying to ask if he’s the one to told Freddie about her clandestine school, but as she looks at him smile, she recognizes it isn’t the right moment to do so. Seeing him so happy is warming her heart, and she can’t ruin Arno’s moment of fatherly pride, she can’t ruin his good mood, not after a long night of brooding, not after all the pain he’s been through the past few days. _Another time._ “Yes, I suppose it can wait,” she says, giving him a warm, reassuring smile.

“See you later, my love,” he says before placing a soft kiss on her cheek, barely brushing the corner of her lip.

There is a lightness in his step, and as she watches him leave, she silently prays for this lightness to last as long as possible.

* * *

It’s with the same lightness in his step – from happiness or from the wine? – that Arno reaches the guest house and knocks on the door. It is middle of the evening already, and he hopes his mother isn’t too tired to come by their house to continue telling her story. He had an early supper with Élise and the children, but the children were still full of energy after their meal, and refused to fall asleep.

Maria is indeed tired, but she waited the whole day to see her son, and the sight of him is enough to energize her. “Mein Liebling, I’m so happy to see you,” she says as they awkwardly hug each other. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mama. You didn’t come and eat with us? Élise told me she invited you.”

Maria smiles an uneasy smile. After watching the children while Élise went to the village, she retreated to the guest house for prayers and contemplations. “It was very kind of your lovely Élise to invite me, but I preferred to give you some space, to let you be with your family. I’m a stranger after all, and I’ve already caused enough trouble as it is. We have to get to know each other first.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs with a half-smile. “Shall we?”

Inside, Élise is playing the perfect hostess and invites Maria to sit on the arm chair in the sitting room, next to the fireplace where a light fire is flaming. There is tea and cake on the table in the middle of the candle-lighted room. _And a bottle of wine for Arno_.

“Where were we?” Maria says, sitting back in her arm chair with a cup of tea.

“You were at the part when you found out you were pregnant with me,” Arno says as he sits down on the sofa next to Élise, a full glass of ruby red wine in his hand.

Maria nods, gathering her thoughts. “Ah yes. As I said, we were both thrilled to become parents. Shortly before I found out I was with child, I had moved in with our father in his small estate at Versailles. It was nothing grand, but for a young girl like me, who was raised in a poor family and in the austerity of a convent, it felt like a palace. And your father was treating me like his queen. When he was home, that is.”

“Was he gone often?” Arno says, taking a large gulp of wine.

Élise glances at him, and makes a silent promise to herself to ensure he wouldn’t drink too much this evening.

“Business matters were keeping him away from the estate several days at a time. An appointment with a new buyer in Paris, or in Versailles. A new client to meet wherever else he was travelling to. Lies, lies…” Maria says, looking down at her cup of tea and shaking her head pitifully.

Arno lets out a snort of amused disbelief. _Father the businessman. Well played._ “That’s what he was telling you? That he had some business to conduct?”

“Yes, that was his cover from the very beginning. He told me he was a some kind of a trader. Bringing sellers and buyers together, and keeping a cut of the deal for himself. Your father wasn’t very rich by the standards of the time, and his name didn’t bear much significance. But to my gullible ears, this trading business sounded like a perfectly honest way of earning a living. I was so blind, so credulous! Sometimes, he’d come back with bruises or cuts, and I’d ask him what on Earth happened to him, as I would nurse him back to health. He’d always have an explanation: a deal went sour; a fight broke out in the streets and he felt compelled to intervene. He fed me lie, after lie, after lie. Without blinking, not even once. And I believed him. Every single time. I was so in love!”

“Sometimes, telling lies is the only way to protect the one you love,” Élise says, a note of regret in her voice. “Even if it means having to regain their trust when the truth comes out.”

She catches Arno’s gaze, the look in his eyes telling her he knows very well what lies she was referring to: their fathers’ true identities and allegiances. _But there are still so many things you don’t know_ , she wants to say.

“I realize that now, in hindsight,” Maria says with a wistful smile.

Arno takes another sip of wine, grimacing at its sourness. “So, you left when you found out Father was lying to you?”

“It was a rather complex course of events. I didn’t make this decision overnight, if that’s what you are insinuating,” she says defensively.

There is no warmth in his tone as he spits his words. “Considering you left your country and your family on a whim to follow a complete stranger to his own country, it wouldn’t have surprised me the slightest if you had.”

They glare at each other for a moment. Arno is the first to lower his gaze, feeling remorseful for the harshness of his words and for his hastiness in judging her. _Give her a chance to explain._

“I hear the pain in your voice, Arno, and I forgive you,” Maria says. She takes a sip of her tea to calm herself before continuing. “Once I fell off my cloud and realized where I was, and what I had done, I was in shock. Here I was, carrying the child of a man I barely knew, in a foreign country where no one, quite frankly, was being friendly to me. I wasn’t dressing properly, I wasn’t behaving properly, I wasn’t speaking properly. I was lonely, I missed my father, I missed the quiet routine of the convent. I spent my days crying, and praying. Your father was heartbroken to see me so unhappy. To free me from this prison that the estate had become, he had tailors come to the estate and to make me new dresses. He also hired tutors to teach me proper French court etiquette, and help me further learn the language. Not that I ever was invited to the palace of Versailles, I never came closer to it than its golden front gate. But I was accompanying your father to soirées and meetings until I was too pregnant to do so, where I had to be presentable, where I had to perform as I expected from a businessman’s wife. I could never get rid of my accent and some of my manners, and I was ‘the Austrian wife of Dorian’ everywhere I went. It never discouraged your father: the more people talked, the more he would show me around, proudly announcing I was with child. Through my darkest moments, the baby in my womb was the light of my life.”

 _The baby in her womb, that’s me_ , he thinks to himself with a faint smile. As he gains perspective on her life in France with his father, a man she barely knew, Arno’s compassion for his mother grows. “I thought you said you and Father had many disagreements?”

“ _Many disagreements_ would be quite an understatement,” she nods. “It started from the moment we left Vienna. I wanted to get married in a church, I _had_ to get married in a church. It didn’t matter to me if my father wasn’t there to give me away to my future husband, I didn’t need a grand wedding. The only thing that mattered to me was that my union to your father had to be blessed as it ought to be, and that we take our vows in the presence of God. Your father couldn’t understand why it was so important to me, he even questioned the very existence of God, arguing that no Supreme Being should ever dictate our behavior, that we ourselves are the judges of our own actions. I was appalled, we had such fundamental differences in beliefs that I wondered how we would ever overcome them.”

Arno twitches upon hearing his father referring to a Supreme Being and free will, but Maria doesn’t notice. _Oh Mother, you would have made a good Templar_ , he thinks to himself with a chuckle. He casts a side look at Élise who is eating cake and drinking tea, enthralled by the recollection of Maria’s memories.

Maria sighs and takes another sip of tea, and then her lips curl in a smirk. “As you can imagine I was also refusing all your father’s advances. His impatience to make me a woman was growing, and so was mine to discover what it was all about. However, I still had enough willpower to stand my ground until we were properly married. Once we crossed the French border, we settled in Besançon for your father to arrange all the paperwork and somehow convince the priest – and me – that he was a good Catholic. He must have forged my father’s signature to prove we had his consent to get married. Your father was resourceful, I’ll give him that. A few days later we were finally married, and the marriage was dutifully consumed.”

“Yes, that appears to be the only logical explanation to me being born a few months later, even if I’d rather not imagine…” He laughs and covers his eyes with his hands. He rubs the fatigue from his eyes, pondering on his mother’s shared memoirs. “I understand you and Father were literally from two different worlds, this was bound to cause frictions. What else did you disagree about?”

“Where do I even start? I wanted you baptized, your father flatly refused. I was afraid for the poor soul of my baby, he was laughing at the silliness of my request. After giving birth, I was too weak and too overwhelmed to fight for what I believed in, so I let him win this argument. We managed to compromise on your name, but even this caused quite a disagreement.”

“You said earlier you wanted me named after opa,” Arno says, avid to learn more about his ancestor.

“Your opa was a good man, solid and tall as an oak tree. I wanted to honor him, and I hoped that perhaps by giving you his name, it would erase my mistake of running away from Austria. Your father, on the other hand, had his mind set on Arnaud, with _-aud_ . He was adamant about it, and he wouldn’t budge. It’s with great regret that I have to admit I’ve always hated that name. We achieved some sort of compromise by changing the spelling of the name to something closer to the German variant, _Arnold_ . Your father said there was a river in Italy named Arno, and he was happy with that name. I had no idea why the name of a river had any sort of significance for your father, but we had reached a compromise at last, and that’s all what mattered to me. And your father agreed to let me give you Victor as a second name, only if I changed the spelling, too, changing from a _k_ to a _c_. It’s incredible, and quite frankly utterly ridiculous, how we fought over your name,” she says with a bitter laugh.

Hearing his own mother hated his name stung and Arno winces, taking a deep breath to swallow the pain. He fills his empty glass of wine. “Why did he insist so much about my name?”

Maria shrugs. “He was quite evasive, I never really understood why, but he surely was insisting.”

“Doesn’t _Arno_ mean something along the lines of ‘ _power of the eagle_ ’?” Élise says as she puts her empty cup of tea back on the table.

Arno frowns and stares at Élise in surprise. “Yes, it actually does. How do you know that?”

“My father explained that to me not long after you joined our family. I didn’t understand the significance at the time, but obviously, it made perfect sense for your father, an Assassin, to want to give you that name,” Élise retorts casually, looking away to avoid Arno’s gaze. This is one of the many things she never told him, one of the many things she kept a secret until the right moment came to tell him the truth.

“You never told me you knew,” Arno says, bewildered. _What else did you hide from me?_ he wants to ask, but he bites his lip.

“And do you know what your own name means, Élise?” Maria asks, intrigued by Élise’s knowledge of names and their signification.

She nods. “ _God is my oath_ , my mother explained to me,” she says with a confident smirk. “Quite fitting for a Templar, isn’t it?” she adds to Arno’s intention, and he gives her an annoyed glare.

“Élise – Élisabeth, mother of John the Baptist, and saint patron of pregnant women. Perhaps your destiny is to be a vessel for a greater purpose, like her,” Maria says, looking intently at Élise.

“How fitting…” Arno sneers.

It’s Élise’s turn to glare at Arno in annoyance, before turning to Maria. “Well, this is all nonsense, and she’s nothing but a legend,” she says curtly. _No, my destiny is to be Grand Master, my destiny is to lead the Templars._ She sighs and laughs at her own foolishness. _My destiny_ was _to be Grand Master, my destiny_ was _to lead the Templars. My destiny… was to die in battle. Maybe she’s right, maybe I am here on Earth to give life for a greater purpose than my own._

“To go back to your relationship with Father,” Arno says to lighten the atmosphere. “Even when you were arguing about my name, he was lying to you.”

“Withholding the truth is what I would call it. I thought his persistence was rather bizarre, but I had enough of my own struggles,” Maria says, her voice threaded with sorrow. “Struggles with caring for my baby. Or better said, struggles for not being allowed to care for my baby the way I wanted. Your father was with me when I gave birth, but ever so rapidly work called him away. An emergency, he said. I was allowed to nurse you once right after you were born, before you were taken away from me by the midwife, and given to the wet nurse who was hired without my knowledge and my consent. I was too weak and I had to recover, they said. When I was allowed to hold you in my arms, I had no idea what to do. I wasn’t prepared for this, I wasn’t raised with a mother’s guidance, the nuns at the convent never taught me anything about motherhood. I was merely a child myself, how was I supposed to care for one? And just as a few months before, when I was pregnant, I spent my days crying and praying.” Tears well in her eyes, the pain she felt nearly three decades earlier still very much there. She takes a handkerchief from her pocket and dries her eyes.

Élise stays silent, but she feels Maria’s pain on a visceral level. That overwhelming feeling when not knowing what to do with a baby, the painful realization that one was not being prepared for motherhood. Not being allowed to nurse her own child, having her baby taken away from her so soon after birth – no mother deserves to experience such a level of pain. She finds herself growing angry at the unfairness of the situation. As a newborn infant, Arno deserved to be loved by his mother, not to be separated from her. She looks at Arno and notices the tension in his jaw, and the way he clenches and unclenches his fists. She reaches to touch him, to brush that strand of hair over and behind his ear, but he jerks his head away from her hand.

Anger, mixed with disbelief, is rising in Arno’s chest, anger directed at the last person he ever expected: his father. For not standing up to defend his wife’s right to care for her own child, and even going behind her back to hire a wet nurse. _Father, you were wrong, so wrong._ At the same time, it was not like him to do something like that, and Arno is more confused than ever. “Where was Father in all this? Didn’t he defend you? I can’t believe he left you alone like that, this is not like him to abandon anyone. And certainly not his wife and newborn child.”

“Your father was much more present the months that followed you being born. He was caring and affectionate, showering me – and you – with presents. You were his little sunshine, his precious little boy. He loved you so deeply, he was merely trying to do what he thought was best for you,” Maria says reassuringly, hoping to defuse her son’s anger towards his father.

Her words seem to have the desired effect on Arno. Gradually, he relaxes and a faint smile appears on his lips. _You were loved_ , he repeats in his head.

“Little by little, I regained my smile and my hopes that everything would be all right,” she continues. “I became more assertive when it came to raising my son. I would take you from the nursery and keep you with me the whole day, only handing you back to the nurse to be fed. When you and I were alone, I would speak to you in German. I made it clear to everyone in the household that no one else would put you to bed for the night. Only me. And I would sing you to sleep every night. These were the most precious moments I shared with you.”

Arno’s heart is aching as he wishes he remembered these moments, these happy times with his mother, but besides the lullaby she was singing to him, his mind is blank.

“Soon enough, I was accompanying your father to dinners and parties, where he would yet again abandon me to go discuss privately with his business partners – or so he said. I’ve spent quite a few evenings watching plays at the Café-Théâtre, all on my own…” Maria says with a deep sigh of regret.

“You know the place?” Arno says, his face instantly lighting up with a grin at the mention of the Café-Théâtre. He obviously knew the building served as a meeting point, as well as a much-needed cover, for Assassins’ activities, but the thought of his mother setting foot there in the past never crossed his mind. “Is that how you found us? By going back to the Café-Théâtre? I lived there for several years!”

“Finding you was like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Maria says with a laugh. “When I left Austria to find you, I first went to Versailles. There, I found out the estate was in someone else’s hands, and I had a hard time finding anyone who knew your father. It had been so long! I came across a man who didn’t know your father, but who knew you: he said the last time he saw you was more than two years ago, at the inn where you stayed for the night. He worked for De la Serre, he said. I had no idea who this man was, I had no idea he was talking about your father, Élise. When I questioned further, another man told me you were probably in Paris. But where? He had no idea. So, I went to the many places your father took me to, including the Café-Théâtre, hoping someone out there knew you or your father.  There, one of the maids… What’s her name…”

“Faustine?” Élise asks. _Sweet Faustine, I wonder how she is doing. And how everyone else is doing._ Instinctively, Élise’s hand goes to her belly as she thinks back of the two long months she lived with Arno at the Café-Théâtre. _Where we conceived our first child. Where our old life ended. Ah, such sweet nostalgia..._

Maria nods. “Yes, Faustine. That’s her. Lovely girl. She told me you left Paris a long time ago, but that I could always knock on a certain Madeleine’s door, as she knew both of you very well, and perhaps she could help me you down.”

The pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place in Élise’s mind. “You knocked on Madeleine’s door, she let you in, and my good old advisor Frederick Weatherall told you our story. And you told him your story, too. He sent me a letter the moment you left Paris to warn us about your arrival, but unfortunately the letter reached me _after_ you reached us,” she says, chuckling at the irony.

“Sir Weatherall didn’t explain everything to me, only that Arno was raised by your father after his father died. He confirmed my son became an Assassin like his father, and he told me a little bit about you: that you were destined to become Grand Master, and that you and Arno joined forces to heroically save France.” There is pride in Maria’s voice, with just a hint of sourness as she pronounces the words _Assassin_ and _Grand Master_.

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it like that,” Élise says modestly with a smile.

Meanwhile, Arno’s smile has long vanished, and a frown of concern is creasing his forehead. “The carelessness of the people you spoke to, in giving away information about our whereabouts, is distressing. I hope this will not send more people on our track.”

“I encountered some resistance. Telling people that my days were counted and that I had to find you before it’s too late was often enough to loosen tongues. And as I travelled down here, no one would suspect an Austrian woman called Maria Pichler. Marie Dorian, on the other hand…”

“I sincerely hope you are right,” he says pensively, staring at yet another empty glass of wine in his hands. _I need to fill this glass again, maybe my mind will finally go numb._ He reaches out to grab the bottle from the table and empties it in his glass, and then takes two large sips of the sour-tasting wine. With a sigh, Élise takes the empty bottle away, silently congratulating herself for not putting a third bottle within Arno’s reach.

“There is still a lot I don’t understand, and I have many more questions – about father, about the estate, about when father died…” Arno says after a moment. “Where were you when he died? Did anyone look for you? And about grandfather, about Austria, about so many other things. And while I do realize and understand now that your relationship with Father was anything but a bed of roses… It’s still difficult for me to comprehend why you simply couldn’t uphold your marriage vows, if taking a holy oath in the presence of God was so important to you.” He bites his lip, regretting once again the harshness of his words. Anger, resentment, and confusion are resurfacing, and he is struggling to contain these emotions as they take hold of his mind.

Maria notices the sudden change in Arno’s expression and demeanor. “Arno, I know I painted a portrait of your father that you would rather not acknowledge, I’m showing you a side of him you might not be aware even exists,” she says softly. “It is not my intention to tarnish your father’s image. He was a charming, kind, and caring man, and I sincerely loved him. And I know he loved me, too. However, there are always two sides to a coin. This is my side of the story, how I’ve experienced our brief marriage, and how it fell apart.”

“You speak of love like you know what that means,” he says with a bitter, incredulous laugh. “Love isn’t acting on impulse, or falling for an image. Love is choosing to spend the rest of your life with someone, knowing their imperfections is what makes them perfect in your eyes. Love is forgiving one another. Love is holding each other’s hand while you’re facing the worst of storms. Love is remaining united, no matter what life throws at you. You know nothing about love, Mother!” As he spits the last words, he takes Élise’s hand in his and squeezes it tight.

To Élise’s ears, this is the loudest and most heartfelt declaration of love for her that she ever heard him confess to someone else, yet it was so subtle and spoken in veiled words. She squeezes his hand back, and gives him a warm and loving smile, but his resentful gaze is set on his mother’s.

“And you are absolutely right,” Maria says calmly. “I fell in love with _who I thought_ your father was. I fell in love with a shell. And once the shell was cracked open...”

“Did you also only love me for my shell? What happened for you to fall out of love for your own son?” This time, he is not regretting his harsh words, as it wasn’t the little boy in him speaking anymore, but the adult.

Until now, she had accepted all of Arno’s remarks without blanching, but this is one blow too many, and Maria breaks into tears. “I… It’s not how it happened, I never stopped loving you–”

“Enough,” he says loudly, holding his hand up. His head is pounding, his heart is aching, his chest is tightening, and he must put an end to the conversation. “Enough for today, I need to digest and process all this. I’m sure you’ll find your way out of the house…” he says as he gets up from the sofa.

Élise pulls on his hand to get him to sit back down and continue, but he stubbornly lets go of her hand instead.

Having regained her composure, Maria dries her tears and nods. “I understand this not very pleasant to hear. We can continue whenever you are ready. I do have some questions for you, too. I don’t know you, after all. I learned a few things from Sir Weatherall, but there are missing pieces to the puzzle of your life after I left.”

“After you abandoned me, you mean?”

She gets up from the armchair, and comes to stand in front of her son. She looks at him sternly as she speaks. “Yes, after I abandoned you. The biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.”

“Goodnight, Mother,” he retorts on the same tone.

Without a word, her head bowed low to avoid Arno’s gaze, Maria leaves. Something is broken inside her, but she is not going to admit defeat so easily. She will give her son the time he needs to come to terms with what he learned this evening, before she continues pouring her heart out.

As she closes the door being Maria, Élise notices Arno is putting on his coat, ready to go outside. “Arno, where are you going?” she asks. The dejected look on his face is worrying her, and is making her want to throw her arms around him to comfort him.

He pauses on his way to the door to the garden, the earlier lightness in his step having completely disappeared. “I need air, I’m suffocating,” he says, almost choking on his last words, as if his throat was too dry to make sounds.

“My love, don’t run away,” she says softly. She takes his hand, feeling the roughness the skin on his palms against her own skin. She wants to hug him, hold him, she wants to kiss him, make love to him. _Why is it that I am so attracted to him when he’s in pain?_ she wonders, exhaling a sigh as he kisses her forehead.

“I’m not running away. I need some time alone, I need to think…” he says. His lips are hovering over her forehead, and his warm breath on her skin is making her shiver.

She nods. “I understand,” she says reluctantly. She understands his need to be alone, but understanding this need doesn’t imply accepting it. She doesn’t want to let him go, she wants him all for herself. “Don’t do anything stupid, I will never forgive you if you do.”

He gives her a faint smile. “I won’t, I promise. I need to take some distance. For a night, maybe for a day… I’m sorry.”

“Your mother _loves_ you, Arno.” She stares into his dark eyes, wishing she could take away the pain and confusion she sees in them, and restore that look of happiness, adoration, and pride she saw earlier.

“Yes, I'm sure she does.” He presses his forehead to hers, their noses brushing lightly, and they close their eyes.

“You’d better come back to me. I can’t do this without you,” she says before their lips join for a kiss. She wishes for this kiss to last forever, for this closeness to erase all traces of pain.

When she opens her eyes, there is nothing but the ghost of his lips on her lips, nothing but the warmth of his hand in her hand, nothing but the scent of him in the air.

He is gone.


	29. Solitude

**19 April, 1797**

Worried and with a heavy heart, Élise spends the night with the children huddled in bed, comforted by their soft whimpers and grunts as they sleep soundly, in the absence of Arno’s arms around her. To her relief, Julie sleeps through the night, and the toddler is on her best behavior as Élise washes and dresses her and her brothers.  _ I can do this _ , she thinks to herself with a faint smile. Her mind is constantly with Arno, hoping he is safe and that he will come back to his family. And as she finishes dressing the twins, which feels like a wrestling match with the high-energy boys wriggling and squirming out of her grip, she catches a glimpse of her beloved through the window as he exits the barn carrying the milk-filled cans. He seems well – he even bears a smile on his lips.  _ You look like you slept in a haycart _ , she thinks with a chuckle. Even if it’s only one night, she misses him, and she wants to go outside and greet him, but decides against it. For now, she’ll give him the space he needs, even if reluctantly.

Later, she comes downstairs to find the fresh eggs of the day neatly arranged on the counter in a small bowl. “Arno must have stopped by the coop this morning so I don’t have to,” she says. She is puzzled as to how she is supposed to interpret this gesture; is it kindness, or is it a message as to say “Don’t come near the barn”? 

Lost in her thoughts, she prepares porridge for herself and and Julie. The twins are roaming about the house and Élise has to repeatedly usher them away from the hearth, little curious hands wanting to touch the hot iron pan.

As she is finally settling at the table to eat, with the twins sent away to play in the sitting room, and Julie secured in her high chair to eat her porridge, a knock on the door interrupts her meal. She impatiently digs her spoon in the thick porridge. “I hate cold cereals.” she groans as she gets up to answer the door. 

Maria was standing on the doorstep, looking pale as ever. She is holding her arm wrapped around her stomach and her lips are pressed tightly together, as if fighting pain. Nonetheless, she breaks into a warm smile upon seeing Élise. “I was wondering if you needed any help with the children, or with the house?” Maria says kindly to a rather irked Élise.

“I am managing very well on my own, but thank you,” Élise retorts sharply before sighing.  _ Remember: she is your guest, she is Arno’s mother. You owe it to him. _ “I was about to finally sit down at the table for my breakfast, do you want to join me?” she asks in a friendlier tone.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Maria says with a slight nod.

Élise goes to the kitchen to pour another bowl of porridge for Maria, while the older woman greets her granddaughter with a kiss on top of her head before sitting at the table.

“Guten Morgen, kleines Mädchen!” Maria says.

“Gu’en Mo’gen!” Julie says proudly, with her mouth full of porridge. “Oma, mama ‘oogies!”

“Julie, don’t talk with your mouth full!” Élise scolds her daughter. She then puts a bowl and a spoon in front of Maria. “I promised her we’d bake cookies together this morning,” she explains with a softened voice and quick smile.

“And you’re going to help your mama?” Maria asks Julie, who nods as she dips her spoon in the thick porridge to take another bite, dropping half the content of her spoon on the table and herself as she brings the spoon to her mouth.

“Arno didn’t sleep here last night, I thought you should know,” Élise says with a sigh of contentment as she sits down to eat her meal, but she grimaces at the taste of the cold cereal. 

“The evening didn’t end well, I’m sorry,” Maria says with a sheepish smile. She looks at Élise and notices the deep crease in her brow, the worry visibly stamped on her face. The ripples of her return continue to spread through their lives, with no end in sight.  _ I’ve been causing nothing but trouble by coming here _ , Maria thinks to herself with a deep sigh of regret. But she needed to atone for her actions of the past, for only then she could be at peace. “Where did he go?”

Élise shrugs. As long as Arno stays out of harm’s way and doesn’t warm someone else’s bed, she doesn’t need to know where he spends his nights. At least, that's what she's been trying to convince herself of since he vanished the night before. “I don’t think he went very far. He was already at work on the farm when I woke up.”

“So, he’s here?” Maria says with relief. 

“Yes, he is. And he is unharmed, from what I could see. After you left, he said he needed to be alone. I respected his wish, even though all I wanted is to hold him close.” There is a quiver in Élise’s voice as she pronounces the last words, betraying how Arno’s absence was truly affecting her.

“He’ll come back to you, I’m sure he will.”

Élise gives Maria a faint smile and nods.  _ Of course Arno will come back _ , she thinks.  _ I know he will _ . “How are you, Maria? You look rather pale this morning, didn’t you sleep well?”

“A bit of stomach pain, it’ll go away,” Maria replies, waving her hand in the air to dismiss Élise’s concerns. 

“Let me prepare you some ginger tea,” Élise says as she gets off her chair, abandoning all further attempts at eating her horribly cold porridge. She’ll face the day on an empty stomach. _ It wouldn’t be the first time. _

“No, thank you. I should go back, I’ve interrupted your meal, and--” 

“But you haven’t eaten anything - Maria…!” Élise pleads as she rushes to Maria’s side to help her to her feet, the older woman’s legs threatening to give way. “Let me wrap it up for you, then.”

Maria straightens her back and color returns to her cheeks, as if a sudden burst of energy – or pride – had coursed through her body. She shakes her head. “Nein, danke, mein Kind,” she says.

The two women stare at each other for a moment, Élise’s sympathetic yet resolved green eyes searching in Maria’s pale blue gaze, seeing her as a rival as well as an ally; a rival, as for the first time Élise is not the only woman in Arno’s life; and an ally, as Maria is the key to healing Arno’s wounds. “Maria, you don’t have to suffer in silence,” Élise says softly. “If you are in pain, I can fetch a doctor for you. I understand we can’t change the outcome, but there has to be something we can do to make you more comfortable.”

“Suffering alone in silence seems to be a family trait,” Maria says with a chuckle.

“And you are as stubborn as your son in refusing help,” Élise chides playfully. “Will you join us this evening?”

Maria shakes her head. “Thank you for inviting me, but I would prefer to rest.”

“As you wish,” Élise sighs. “I’ll bring you something to eat and drink a bit later. Will that be all right?”

Maria nods, and Élise smiles.  _ Allies, for Arno’s sake _ , Élise reminds herself as she closes the door behind Maria. She turns her attention to Julie, and can’t help but laugh at the little girl’s smiling face covered in sticky cereals.

“Ready to bake the cookies?” Élise says as she wipes her daughter’s cheeks and chin, before placing a quick kiss on her forehead.

What follows is a joyful mess of giggling children, of flour covering most of the table and part of the floor, and of three little pairs of hands poking the cookie dough, while an overwhelmed but contented Élise rolls the dough to make cookies. She looks at her children in wonder, marvelling at how fast they are growing and learning new skills; Julie showing a more adventurous side as she becomes more independant; Charles the ever-happy baby who is looking up to his big sister and wants to imitate her; and François the quiet little boy with a broody side, much like his father. She tries to imagine for an instant what her life would be without them.  _ A life of isolation, emptiness, and solitude, no doubt _ , she thinks to herself.  _ Even with Arno at my side. Rulers lead a lonely life, everybody knows that. _ She swallows around the lump of emotion that forms in her throat and continues rolling the cookie dough, catching at the last moment a sneaky tiny had that tries to steal one of the little balls of dough.

After putting the twins down for their short morning nap on the sofa, not before they ate one warm cookie softened in milk, Élise cleans the flour from the kitchen floor, and she takes Julie by the hand. “Come, let’s go see your Papa!”

In the barn, Arno is busy repairing a hinge on a pen’s door, brow furrowed as he tightens the mechanism. He is tired and his back is aching from sleeping on a too thin layer of hay in the training room’s hayloft – last night’s hideout. Not that he had much sleep. The night had been cold, and his mind kept churning the same ambivalent thoughts and sentiments about his father. How Arno wishes he could ask him to tell him the truth, the  _ real  _ truth, not the masquerade of a truth he’s been fed after his mother left. “Your mother is in a better place now,” Charles explained in carefully chosen words to answer to his son’s questions, a few years after Maria’s sudden disappearance. To the young Arno, this explanation could only mean that his mother had died and gone to heaven. There isn’t any better place than heaven, is it? This was the only logical and plausible account. How could he have known that “better” meant that she had gone back to Austria? And how painful being married to Charles must have been, for leaving her own son behind was the only way out to a  _ better  _ life? Maria had already started to lift the veil on the grim reality of her life at Versailles, and Arno has been forced to question his own certainties about his father. The voice of Julie calling him pulls him out of his thoughts, and he breaks into a large grin at the sight of his daughter and his wife. As much as he needed to spend the night alone, he missed his little family dearly.

“Good morning! Or is it afternoon already? I’ve lost track of time...” he says sheepishly before pressing his lips on Élise’s, who responds by pressing harder and deepening the kiss, her free hand instantly reaching for the nape of his neck, her fingers snaking through his hair. She had longed for this kiss all night, for the soft brushing of his lips to wake her, but he never came back. 

Upon hearing herself moan, Élise suddenly remembers where she is, and she can almost feel the intensity of Julie’s quizzical look burning the back of her head.  

“Is your watch broken again?” she says, feeling her cheeks turn to crimson. She takes a deep breath to regain her composure. “It’s past noon, and I figured you’d be hungry. You didn’t eat breakfast, and...” She hands Arno a small bundle, containing a wedge of cheese, a couple of thick slices of bread, and plenty of sweet cookies. “Julie and I baked you cookies.”

“You baked me cookies, Sweet Pea?” Arno asks, looking down at his daughter, who nods proudly. He turns his gaze back to Élise. “Thank you, and you’re right: I am starving!”

They sit next to each other on a short bench butted up against the wall, Élise scooting closer to Arno, their shoulders touching.

“Julie, why don’t you go play with the kittens?” Élise suggests quickly to distract her daughter and enjoy a few precious minutes alone with Arno. “Remember to be gentle when you pick them up, otherwise Mademoiselle Moustache will not be happy!” she shouts as Julie runs towards the mother cat and her kittens. She turns to Arno, who is keenly eating his bread and cheese, his eyes set on Julie. “How are you?” she asks while watching him eat, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. 

“I’m fine. Spending some time alone was helpful,” he says as he pops a piece of bread in his mouth, purposely avoiding her gaze. The closeness of their bodies touching was already as much as he could bear. 

“I am glad to hear that,” she says, a hint of snarkiness in her tone. “I hope you’ll join me and the children at the table this evening. Your mother already refused my invitation, I wouldn’t want to end up having to eat a large pan of soup all on my own.”

He flinches at the hooded harshness of her words, like stealth arrows that hit him straight in the heart.

“Of course I will,” he sighs. He finally turns his head to look at her in the eyes. He can tell by the way she nervously chews her lip, that his vanishing caused her more pain than he had realised up until now. “Élise, my needing some time alone last night had nothing to do with you, or the children. I truly appreciate everything you are doing for me.”

“I know. It doesn’t make my nights without you any less lonely, but if it’s what it takes…” she says, tearing her gaze from his to keep a closer eye on Julie.

“I promise I will not run away like I did the other day, but I cannot promise I will not need to be alone from time to time,” he says rather firmly, moving his shoulder away her hers almost imperceptibly.

She is taken aback by the determination in his voice, and she feels virtually pushed aside. “You needing some time alone usually leads to a path of self-destruction. I love you, Arno. I am not going to let you hurt yourself, not again, not ever,” she says, sounding almost desperate.

“I promise you I will ask for your help if it gets too much. However, right now, I need to breathe,” he says, his tone softened.

She nods. “I understand.” she says with a deep sigh. _Of course I understand,_ she thinks to herself, as a heavy silence falls between them. Didn’t she beg for the same air to breathe when Arno was smothering her and practically locking her up in his room at the Café-Théâtre, in fear she would run away or put herself in a situation of danger? But back then, living under the same roof as Arno was a new experience. In the years that followed her mother’s death, she was all by herself at the Maison Royale. And after her father’s death, even with Freddie, Hélène, Jacques, and sometimes Arno, at her side, the chosen few she could trust not to betray her, she was alone. At the Café-Théâtre, she had to learn how to be alive, how to contemplate a future with a husband and children, and she had to learn to accept being loved, and give love in return. _Of course I understand._

“Mama! Look! He big!” Julie says as she holds a meowing kitten between her hands, her squeals and the kitten’s bringing Élise’s back to the present.

Élise chuckles, followed by Arno. “Isn’t this the kitten you picked for Antoine? Look how big he is now!” Élise says overenthusiastically, leaning to pet the fluffy kitten’s head.

“We’ll have to find good homes for the other kittens, or we’ll just have to keep them!” Arno says with a smile, the little girl’s joy contagious.

“We’ll see about that,” Élise laughs. “Now give the kitten back to Mademoiselle Moustache, Julie. We have go bring a meal to oma and leave Papa to work.” 

“Thank you for the lunch, I missed it.” he says as he folds the cloth carefully around the cookies. He then places the sweet bundle in the pocket of his vest. Their conversation has given him an idea.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, isn’t it?” Élise says, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, before getting off the bench and taking Julie’s hand to go back to the house.

* * *

The barn and the stable is sparkling clean, the animals are all outside enjoying the early spring sun rays, the buckets placed at various locations around the enclosures have been filled with fresh water. “Time for a well-deserved break,” Arno says, tapping the cookies in his pocket.

“Liebling! What a surprise,” Maria says as she finds her son standing outside the guesthouse.

He looks around him and in the direction of the house, making sure Élise isn’t in the garden, before speaking. “I’m taking a break from work, and I thought I’d come by to see you. If you’re not too tired, of course,” he says with a timid smile. He is nervous, butterflies are fluttering in his stomach. For the first time, he will be alone with his mother, a thought that is as appealing as it is daunting.  _ I have to give reconciliation a chance _ , he thinks to himself.

“I was just about to eat. Come in, please.” she says, a large grin illuminating her pallid face. 

They sit at the small table in an awkward silence, neither seeming to want to open the conversation. They eat in the same awkward silence, Maria barely touching her bread and grimacing while clutching her stomach as a wave a pain strikes, Arno savoring the sweet cookies, not without noticing the pain twisting his mother’s traits.  _ Time is running out _ ... 

He decides to speak. “Let me first apologize for yesterday, Mama. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. I was upset and angry at Father, and I took it out on you.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “There is no need to apologize, Liebling. I understand you are angry. I know you hold your father in high esteem, as you should. Your father was a great man. How our relationship evolved had nothing to do with you.”  _ Or maybe just a little _ , Maria thinks to herself. 

“You’re not eating?” he asks worriedly as her hand flies to her stomach again.

“A bit of stomach pain,” she dismisses. “I’ll eat later. Don’t worry about me. What do you want to talk about? Would you like to tell me a bit about you?” She was eager to know more about her son’s life, all she gathered so far were mere snippets.

“Where to start?” Arno says with a chuckle. Indeed, where to start? From the moment he was abandoned, or from when he was taken in by François de la Serre? “There is so much to tell.” he sighs.

“Tell me about you and Élise, then. Tell me how my son fell in love with his future wife. I’ve told you how I met your father and how we fell in love, but I’m convinced your story is far more interesting than mine!” she says with a wide smile. 

“I don’t know about that.” he says, blushing. Opening up to his mother about his past life was one thing, but expressing his love for Élise was something else. This was… personal. “You know I met her the day Father was killed?”

Maria nods. “Yes, that part I know. And I know her father took you in after that.”

“We were both too young to fall in love, in the beginning. But I enjoyed her company. She was fearless and fierce, and always getting us into trouble. She was my big sister, and I was too happy to play the little brother to be in love! I just knew there was something special about her.” He pauses to smile, fond memories of the first years growing up with Élise coming to his mind. Then, gradually his smile fades. “Until Madame de la Serre’s health took a turn for the worse, we were always together. From that moment on, things changed. I was not allowed near her mother, I was barely seeing Élise or Monsieur de la Serre. I understood it wasn’t their fault, but for a little boy who only wanted a family to belong to, it was difficult to accept. It’s as if I got a taste – just a taste – of living in a family, with a sister, a mother and a father, and then everything got taken away from me. Once again.” He looks down to his hands on his lap. It’s suddenly painfully obvious to him that his strong desire to start a family stems from constantly being rejected, that his possessiveness for Élise is rooted in fear of being alone. He’s always known, and Élise mentioned it several times, and yet… It’s as if he’s finally becoming aware of it. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, I thought you were happy there,” Maria says in a soft voice, with a point of regret. She looks at her son, whose gaze is still set on his hands.  _ What have I done? _ she asks herself.  _ I could have, I  _ should  _ have… But I didn’t, and it’s too late now. _

“I was happy, Monsieur de la Serre was treating me well, and Élise… Élise was – and still is – my one true friend. However, I was never entirely part of the family. And this feeling of not belonging only intensified after Madame de la Serre passed away, and Monsieur de la Serre sent Élise to school in Saint-Cyr.”

“You didn’t see Élise often, then?”

He shakes his head. “Only during school vacations, and that was only a few days per year. And when she was with us in Versailles, her father forced her to take lessons with private tutors from morning until evening. We wrote to each other instead. Eventually, I started to see her as something else than a sister or a friend,” he says with a bashful smile, blood rushing to his cheeks again. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment when his feelings for Élise changed. There was an emptiness in his heart created by her absence, and this emptiness gradually turned into a deep longing: to be with her, to touch her, to kiss her.   
“She is very beautiful, you’d have to be blind or made of stone not to fall for her,” she says, chuckling lightly. She finds the trouble on her son’s face as he speaks of Élise rather amusing. And adorable.

He looks up to meet her gaze and smiles. The memory of a blue-eyed and blonde-haired angel watching over him flashes in front of his eyes, the image superimposing over the face of the older woman who was now sitting in front of him. “You are very beautiful too, Mama. Your eyes are as blue as I remember them. Likewise, I can’t blame Father for falling in love with you.” 

“Charmer! Just like your father,” she teases. She shrugs, a wistful smile on her lips. “I used to be pretty, I suppose. Now, I’m old and ill. Your father used to call me  _ ma petite fleur des montagnes aux yeux d’azur _ [my little mountain flower with azure eyes]. He could be quite a poet. And those deep brown eyes of his…” She sighs. The inevitability of death is upon her, and she can’t help but hope she will see her beloved Charles in heaven. There is so much she would like to tell him – that she never stopped loving him, that she forgives him. And that she hopes he will forgive her, too. “But we’re not here to talk about me. I want to get to know you. Tell me, what do you love most about Élise?”

He leans over the table, his chin propped on his hand. His eyes are dreamy as he takes a few moments to gather his thoughts. He certainly couldn’t speak of her soft skin and hair, of how he’d gladly drown in the green of her eyes, of his desire for her. “I admire her strength, her courage. I have been through a lot of heartaches in my life, but so has she, and she never backed down. I love how she is made of softness as well as hardness, of round curves and sharp edges, how the fire burns in her heart and how she blossomed when she became a mother, as if she finally found peace. She is made of contrasts, I never know what to expect with her. And she loves me. Sometimes it feels like she's the only person who ever loved me,” he adds rather bitterly.

“Liebling, you know that's not true…”

“But that's how it feels, Mother,” he says in a sharp tone. 

They exchange looks, and Arno’s traits soften upon seeing the regret in his mother’s eyes. He has to believe her, he as to believe he was truly loved. 

“When did you ask her to marry you?,” Maria asks to steer the conversation to a lighter topic. “She hinted at something rather spontaneous the other day.”

The diversion works. Arno smiles. “We had just learned from the doctor that Élise was expecting, and–”   
“Arno!” she exclaims, bewildered. “You can’t have a child out of wedlock, it’s a sin!”

He rolls his eyes and bursts out in laughter. “Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned. We didn’t wait until we were married, we consummated a marriage which hadn't happened yet, and we conceived a child out of wedlock,” he says sarcastically.  _ Oh yes, that not-yet-happened marriage was consummated on numerous highly pleasurable occasions _ , he thinks to himself with a laugh. He will truly never understand his mother’s religious fanaticism. “With everything that had happened, after cheating death countless of times, we had gotten used to living in the moment, and to never think of the future. For we didn’t know if we’d still be alive the next day. We didn’t think of the consequences…”

“But, you wanted children, didn’t you? You wanted to get married?”

“Of course I wanted children, I wanted to get married, but Élise… not so much. This…” With a gesture of his hand, he designates the farm. “This is not what she was supposed to become.”

She nods. “As I understood, Élise’s path to her destiny was laid out before she was even born. But how can we be sure of our destiny, as it is essentially in God’s hands?” She pauses an instant before asking: “Do you ever feel guilty?”

He scoffs a breath of laughter. “Do I ever feel guilty? All the time. Yet I know that for her safety, and for the safety of our children, I made the right decision to leave Paris, with her and our unborn child. This is  _ my  _ dream, you know.”

“A family to call your own. Yes, I understand this need,” she says softly. “Don’t forget that I grew up without my mother, and I lost my siblings to illness. When my father sent me away, the convent became my second family. And when I married your father, I couldn’t wait to start a family with him. A family of my own.”

Arno tilts his head, and considers his mother’s words. It never occurred to him that he could share with his mother the same feelings of loneliness and longing for a family. “I see we have more in common than I thought. The Brotherhood of Assassins became my third family. Although my joining had more to do with a means to an end. Were you disappointed when you heard I was an Assassin like Father?”

“I wasn’t disappointed, nor was I surprised,” she says, shaking her head resignedly. “It’s in your blood, it was unavoidable.”

He frowns in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“That’s something I will keep for myself until you are ready to continue,” Maria says with a mysterious smirk. “And? This marriage proposal?”

“Yes, the marriage proposal,” he chuckles. “As I said, the doctor had just announced that Élise was expecting. She was angry, and in shock, and she said that she was carrying her father’s name, that it was her duty to pursue his work, that she couldn’t be having a baby, and so forth. Me, on the other hand, I had never felt so happy in my entire life! So, before I could stop myself, I said she could take my name if she wanted.”

“How about that for a spontaneous proposal!” Maria laughs. She has no difficulty imagining the scene: Élise out of her mind after hearing she is pregnant, and Arno smiling from ear to ear. 

Arno blushes once more, a beaming smile on his face. “Asking her to marry me was one thing. She didn’t sign the marriage contract wholeheartedly, let me tell you! She wasn’t going to sign away her freedom just like that. It took some… convincing. We were married about 2 weeks later, and we left Paris shortly thereafter.”

“A new life, in a foreign place,” Maria says, nodding. 

Arno rises an eyebrow as he strikes another parallel between his life and his mother’s. “Yes, a new life, in a rather foreign place, even though we’re still in France. It hasn’t been easy, we were very poor the first year. But with hard work, we started to make a bit of money from the farm and from renting this little house. And then, the twins were born. You said your mother, oma, she had a twin sister?”

“Yes. I never had much contact with my mother’s family – some old feud between the families of my father and my mother, which turned sour when my mother passed away. But I remember her saying she had a twin sister. It must have been a shock for you and Élise, two babies at the same time! And so quickly after welcoming little Julie!”

“They forced Élise to stay in bed the last three months. As you can probably imagine, she cannot stay idle for a very long time. But she had to do what she had to do for our babies to be safe.”

It’s Maria’s turn to rise an eyebrow in surprise. “You knew she was having twins? That’s odd.”

“Errr…” Arno stammers, looking for a way out. Now was certainly not the time to mention Élise’s visions. “Well, Élise was very big, and the midwife said she was pretty sure Élise was having twins.”  _ Pfew, that was close. _

“Yes, of course. Tell me more. About your life in Paris. About your life here.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the garden, Élise is balancing the fussy twins in her arms. François is crying, Charles is whimpering and close to tears. They fought over something while playing, and Élise can’t put them down to sleep soon enough. She is tired, and her head is pounding.  _ And you want to add another crying child to this cacophony? _ she scoffs at herself.  _ I need a nap myself, or a drink. Or both. _

“Have you seen Arno?”

The impatient voice of a boy behind her.

“Goodbye quiet time alone,” she mumbles before turning around to face the teenager in her garden. “Good afternoon, Francis,” she says with forced amiability as she bounces the babies in an attempt to calm them down. Charles’ whimpering has now been replaced with tears. “No I haven’t seen Arno, is he not at work?”  _ I don’t have time for this! _

“We were supposed to train, but I can’t find him,” Francis says with clear disappointment on his face.

She sighs, taking pity in the boy’s chagrin. And come to think of it, maybe a bit of exercise is what she needs to feel refreshed and clear her head. “Well, if it’s sword fighting training that you need, I’m your woman!”

Francis snorts out a laugh. “You?”

“Do not scoff at me, young man,” Élise retorts, her mouth open in disbelief. “I bet I can get you down on your knees, begging for mercy, before you’ve even unsheathed your sword,” she says in a playfully threatening manner. “Help me with the children, will you? Then I’m all yours.”

“Help you? With the children?”

“Help me bring the twins upstairs for their nap by taking Charles, please,” Élise says, immediately presenting the baby to Francis.

“But…” the boy protests. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he takes Charles into his arms, unsure how he should hold him.

“You can still be a man while caring for children, you know,” she says with a smirk. “Are you coming, Julie? Because you’ve been a good girl today, you can stay up and watch me beat Francis.”

Once the twins are asleep, Élise quickly changes into more comfortable clothes for training, while Francis fetches her sword. The training will take place in the garden, where Julie can play to her heart’s content without fear of touching a dangerous weapon, and from where Élise can hear the babies’ cries. 

“Are you ready for a beating?” she says, eagerly getting into position. She ditched her apron and her loose linen vest for her favorite tight-fitting leather vest. She is barefoot on the lawn, the grass tickling under her feet. Grounded and rooted, the earlier tiredness has vanished, and adrenalin from excitement pumps into her veins. She is ready.   
“You know Arno said I was talented?” Francis gets into position, and Élise immediately notices the sloppiness of his stance, betraying his overconfidence.

_ I can’t wait to wipe that smirk off your face _ , she groans internally. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’ve heard him say you were talented, indeed. But I’ve been holding a sword in my hand since I was a little girl, and I’ve been trained by the best swordsman of the whole of France and England. Do not underestimate me, and let this be my first lesson to you: never underestimate an opponent.” 

Under Julie’s watchful eye, and before Francis has an opportunity to correct his stance, Élise attacks at full speed, pushing him towards the hedge surrounding the garden on one side. Within mere seconds, despite responding to her quick moves with quick ones of his own, he is backed up against the hedge, unable to move or defend himself. 

“Woah, easy!” he groans as the point of her sword nips the fabric of his shirt.

She snickers and walks away. “Easy? But this is me going easy on you. I suggest you step up to the challenge, and do your best! You’re not giving me anything!”

“Maybe I’m not so talented after all,” he says, and kicks the grass with boot in frustration. 

She steps towards him, pointing with her index finger. “Don’t you ever say that again. Francis, look at me.” He glances up to meet her fierce gaze. “Arno is right; you are talented,” she continues. “I can see it. You’re quick, you’re smart. If you continue building up your strength, you could become an excellent swordsman. But you have to strike the balance between arrogance and submission. Never show your opponent that you are afraid – but never be too overconfident. Show your opponent respect, instead.”

He nods, and sighs deeply.  _ Another lesson learned _ , he thinks to himself. “Right, I see. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have underestimated you. You… You’re...” He awkwardly points at Élise with his sword.

“A woman?” she retorts. “Yes, I’m a woman, but women can also kick your arse. Ready to continue? Show me how you parry!”

From a corner of the garden, slightly hidden by the hedge, Arno watches Élise and Francis in action.  _ Admires Élise in action _ is a better choice of words. She fights like she dances, in swift and graceful movements, pivoting and twirling effortlessly on the ball of her feet, her sword a simple extension of her arm, at her beck and call. Initially, Francis struggles to keep up the rhythm, but as he learns to read her fighting style, he adapts his own style to match hers. He even forces her to defend herself on several occasions, the endurance of his youth playing to his advantage. Julie is clapping her hands, thoroughly enjoying the demonstration of agility that is offered to her.

_ The boy certainly has talent, _ Arno thinks to himself.  _ Even I couldn’t read Élise’s style that easily at first. _

“How I’ve been replaced,” Arno says as he steps out of his semi-hiding place. His voice startles the trainer and her trainee, stopping them in their tracks.

“I’m sorry, you were nowhere to be found, and I needed a good fight,” Élise says with a wide grin. She was delighted to see Arno, and the intensity of the training did a world of good for her. “You were right, Francis is talented.”

“Papa, papa!”

Arno scoops his daughter into his arms as she comes running towards him. “And you’ve been keeping an eye on them for me, right Sweet Pea?” The little girl smiles and nods. “I hope she wasn’t too hard on you?” he asks Francis.

The boy lets out a nervous chuckle. “Let’s just say she taught me a few lessons.”

“Good, good,” Arno says, nodding. “Never a bad thing to learn from various teachers.”

“I better get back home, I promised my mother I’d help her with the garden. I don’t want to disappoint her,” Francis says, hoping Arno would be proud of him for doing his chores and respecting his parents.

“I see you’ve indeed learned your lessons. I’m sorry for not being available this afternoon. We’ll train together another time, I promise.”

“I know you have other things on your mind, don’t worry.”

Élise politely waves Francis goodbye and takes his practice sword, and Arno shakes Francis’ hand and pats his shoulder.  _ I need to take his training further _ , he thinks to himself as the young boy leaps away.

“Where were you?” Élise asks as she places both swords on the garden’s table.

“You will not believe me, but I was with my mother,” Arno says proudly. 

Élise cringes. She had expected him to say he was perched on the top of a hill in search of peace. Not that he was casually chatting with his mother. “Oh. I suppose I can hardly blame you for trying to get closer to her, she is your mother after all,” she says, hiding her jealousy as best she could. “What did you two talk about?” she asks after a moment.

“We talked about me, we talked about you,” he says as he wraps his free hand around her shoulder and plants a kiss on her cheek. “It was time I share a bit about  _ my  _ life.”

Arno’s demonstration of affection towards her, and the brightness of this smile, warmed her heart. “Of course. You’re smiling, and this makes me very happy.” she says returning his smile. “I need to go check on the boys.” she says suddenly. “How was your mother this afternoon? She complained she was in pain last night, she didn’t eat much this morning.”

Arno’s smile fades, and a frown of concern appears on his face. “She complained of the same when I was with her. She nibbled on the meal you brought her. And then I helped her get in bed, she said she was tired.”

“Papa, down!” Julie asks as she squirms in her father’s arms. She wants to follow her mother inside the house.

“I’ll have to ask around in the village for stomach pain remedies,” Élise says, nodding. “Maybe Henriette knows, she’s coming over tomorrow, I’ll have to ask her. Or I could ask Marcera, or even Clara...”

“I wonder how long she’ll be with us.” The last words are strangled in his throat. Overcome with emotion, and grief, he takes several deep breaths to calm himself.  _ I’m barely getting to know her, it can’t be over so soon, it’s unfair... _

“Shhh…” Élise says softly, reaching to touch his cheek with her hand. “Don’t think about this, my love. Live in the moment. She’s with us now, it’s all what counts.”

* * *

The evening sky is tinted in shades of orange and red. They are sitting in silence, side by side on the doorsteps, an empty bottle of wine and empty glasses in front of them. Arno’s shoulders are slumped, and he is avoiding eye contact, drinking more than his share of the second bottle of wine in his hand, directly from the bottle.

Élise breaks the unbearable silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?” he says, continuing to avoid all eye contact.

Perhaps the moment isn’t well-chosen to confront Arno about Freddie’s knowing about her clandestine school, but she can’t keep it to herself any longer. She has to know, and she has to take Arno’s mind away from his mother.

“Are you secretly corresponding with Freddie behind my back? Tell me the truth.” 

“No! Why on Earth... ?” he retorts indignantly, staring at her straight in the eyes for the first time since they finished eating dinner, his mood having shifted from despondent to irritable in seconds. “Why would I do this? I swear on our father’s heads, I do not correspond with Freddie. Why are you asking, where do these ridiculous accusations come from?”

_ Uh oh, what have I done? _ “I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m only looking for an answer,” she says calmly. The last thing she wanted was for Arno’s mood to escalate further towards anger. Especially not anger directed at her. “In his last letter, in which he was warning me about your mother’s imminent arrival, he also warned me to stop immediately with my clandestine school. How could he possibly know about this? I never mentioned it in my letters, with good reasons because I knew he would tell me to stop!” she adds with a quiet laugh.

“And you thought  _ I _ told him?”

“There aren’t that many people in this town who know about the school  _ and  _ who know Freddie. I thought I would check first with the person closest to me.”

“I can assure you that I am not the one who told him, I swear I am speaking the truth,” he reiterates firmly, but in a calmer voice. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “I will have to keep on looking for the culprit.”

He puts the wine bottle down and takes her hand, rubbing the soft skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. “You know I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself, and your pupils, in danger. But you also know you have my full support. I think what you are doing is important, it’s courageous, and I will always defend your choice.”

“Thank you.” she says with a sincere and warm smile.  _ I don’t know who talked, but at least the diversion worked _ , she thinks to herself. She then leans closer and whispers in his ear: “Let’s go to bed…” She gives him a mischievous look, shivering in anticipation of the warmth of his embrace, of reaching the heights of pleasure. And having him all for herself.

“Élise, I…” he stammers as he lets go of her hand. “I’d prefer to be alone tonight.” He had carefully weighed his options, but the urge to breathe was stronger than his desire to be with her.

She winces, taking the hit, and the hint. She is not welcome in his comfortable bubble of solitude. “If that’s what you want,” she says dryly, coughing out an indignant scoff. “I said once that we don’t know how to love, you and I. It seems we don’t know how to be loved either. I’ll be upstairs if you change your mind,” she says as she promptly gets up to her feet and storms inside, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

**20 April, 1797**

“You look tired, and you are very pale,” Clara says bluntly after the usual small talk of two friends seeing each other.

“The last couple of nights have been difficult.” Élise says with a sigh. She has no wish to talk about her nights alone with the children. Arno’s rebuff has upset her, and while she has managed to keep it together the past few days, she is slowly feeling herself crumble and she is afraid one word too many would open the floodgates.

“You should probably see a doctor.” Clara begins examining Élise: looking into her eyes, pinching the skin of her arm, even lifting her upper lip with her thumb to examine her gums.

“I don’t trust doctors, I only trust you.” Élise says, annoyed by Clara’s invasive prodding and probing.

“I’m only a midwife, and a very young and inexperienced midwife at that. Your gums are light pink. You need to eat more meat, your blood is too thin.” Clara concludes, satisfied with her diagnosis. 

“Meat costs a fortune. Which we  _ do  _ have, but I’d rather use this money to help others in need than buy meat.” They have barely touched the money of the sale of the Versailles estate and Paris villa, only reimbursing the money loaned and preferring to live off the farm’s income and trading. She needs the money for Arno to build her classroom and equip it, not for something so frivolous and expensive as meat.

“Élise, you need to eat more, and stop nursing.” Clara says, trying to reason her stubborn friend. 

But Élise isn’t having any of it. She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Here we go again…”

“Forget I’m a midwife for just one moment. I’m saying this as your friend. I am worried about you.”

Élise looks at her friend, genuine concern written all over Clara’s face. “Things have been difficult the past few days, since Arno’s mother resurfaced. It’s only normal that I feel tired,” she says, dismissing Clara’s concerns and remaining as vague as possible about the torment in her mind. But the stern look on the young midwife’s face finally convinces her to listen to the advice. “Alright, I’ll prepare a stew this evening. And I promise I’ll keep the biggest portion for myself.  _ And  _ I’ll continue weaning my precious babies.” She looks around and takes Clara’s arm to lead her a little way away from the busy market street. “Speaking of babies…” she says in a low voice.

“You’re not with child, are you? Because if you are, don’t look any further as to why you’re tired,” Clara says more dryly than she intended.

Élise shakes her head, and lets out a chuckle. “No, I’m not with child, but… what if I wanted to be? How do you make a baby?”

Clara gives Élise a bewildered look. She is shocked Élise admitted wanting another child, and even more shocking was Élise asking her for advice on how to become pregnant. “You’ve been with child twice, and you have three children. And you’re asking  _ me _ , who has never bedded a man, how to make a baby?”   
“You’re a midwife, I’m sure Elena told you about those things by now,” Élise shrugs, slightly miffed by her friend’s reaction. “I very well know how babies are made, I simply don’t know how to make a baby on purpose, you see? I never planned to have a baby, it just happened…”

“Then let the next one happen, too,” Clara says with a forced smile. The conversation is making her uncomfortable and she is impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It was one thing to deliver babies and care for mother and baby, but it was another to discuss about… these things.

“There has to be a more… practical approach than simply leaving it in fate’s hands?” Élise insists, perplexed.

“It seems to have worked on the first two occasions.”

Élise shakes her head. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere, I better ask Elena.”

Clara stares into Élise’s eyes and speaks firmly: “If I can only give you one advice, as your friend and your midwife: you should get healthy first before you think of having another baby. Otherwise...” She wants to say: “Otherwise you run the risk of losing your baby”, but she doesn’t have the courage to pronounce the words. Death, of mother or child, or both, is too present in her daily work. The last thing she wants is for Élise and her baby to suffer a similar fate.

But Clara doesn’t need to pronounce the words for Élise to understand what she was trying to say. She smiles an uneasy yet knowing smile, and a shiver runs down her spine. However, rather than discouraging her plans, it further motivated her. “One more reason to buy the biggest piece of lamb I can find. Can you advise me on the cut? Arno is still raving about the stew you made for him two years ago.”

Clara flashes a grateful smile.  _ Now we’re talking _ , she thinks to herself. “With pleasure. And I’ll give you my stew recipe on the way.”

* * *

Watching the children play from the corner of her eye, Élise prepares the lamb stew following Clara’s recipe. Her movements are mindless and automatic, her thoughts are set on one person, and one person only: Arno. Earlier, he accepted the lunch she prepared for him with a smile. They exchanged knowing looks, his saying “I’m sorry”, and hers “you hurt me, but I understand”. In a split-second of distraction, she accidentally cuts herself with the knife, nicking her middle finger. With a yelp, she lets go of the knife and brings her finger to her mouth to suck the blood. She hurriedly pulls her handkerchief from her pocket and wraps it around her finger to stop the bleeding. And at once, the tears she had fiercely held back until this moment begin to flow. She lets out a crying roar, followed by angry sobs and yells that startle the children. Then she sags to the floor with her back against the counter. 

“Mother, I miss you,” she sobs. Rage and jealousy and, most of all, deep sorrow blaze in her stomach, and the tears show no sign of drying.

“Mama?”

Élise opens her eyes. Her mind is fuzzy and she can hardly focus on what she sees. How long has she been crying. Seconds? Minutes? Julie is staring at her, finger in mouth, a confused look on her face. Behind her, her brothers come crawling, alerted by their mother’s loud sobs.

“Mama, no cwy Mama,” Julie says as she leans to slip her little arms around her mother’s neck for a hug.

“Oh Bunny, my Baby Bunny. Mama is fine, don’t worry,” she says as she rubs her eyes and wipes her tears from her cheeks. Within seconds, the babies climb into her lap, François popping his thumb into his mouth and burying his head in her chest, and Charles climbing higher to nuzzle her under her chin. “Who am I kidding, of course I’m not. But you’re too young to understand. I miss my mama, and I miss your Papa, and it’s all too complicated for your little minds, I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain it to you,” she says, crying out a laughing sob. She hugs her children, holding them close to her heart, thanking God for giving her another chance at life and blessing her with such a precious family, for she is not alone anymore. Little by little, the coil in her stomach relaxes and her tears subside. Even the pain in her finger seems to have vanished.

“Get yourself together, Élise. Henriette will be here soon,” she reasons herself with a forced laughter.  

The sleepy babies and toddler in her arms remind her she lost track of time. She braces the twins firmly and struggles up on her feet, and gives Julie a gentle nudge to follow her. It wasn’t too late to bring them upstairs for their nap before Henriette arrives. And it wasn’t too late for one last, desperate attempt at getting Arno back.

* * *

“It smells wonderful in here,” Arno says with a wide grin as he closes the front door behind him. He is greeted by children, who storm the front door and engulf him in heartfelt hugs and kisses.

From the kitchen, Élise patiently waits her turn. She loves watching Arno interact with the children: the brightness of his smile when he patiently listens to Julie as she tries to tell him about her day, the pride on his face when the boys pull themselves up to stand on their chubby legs. And most of all, the endless love he has for his children, and the endless love they are giving him in return. Her heart knows she will never tire of him – her husband, the father of her children. _ If only he would come back to me _ ...

When Arno can finally walk to the kitchen without fear of stepping on the tiny hands of the crawling twins, she greets him with a kiss, hard, fiery and passionate. “I’m happy you noticed, I made a lamb stew with Clara’s secret recipe,” she says, before pulling him into another kiss, soft and light this time. 

“What’s the occasion?” he says with a chuckle, amused by her ardor. He takes a few moments to look at her: her hair is pulled back in a braid as usual, and the sunny days of spring have sprinkled freckles on her nose and her cheeks. But the redness of her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows she must have cried, and his stomach twists in guilt.

She gazes back at him, and her bewitching smile quirks at the corner of her mouth. “None in particular. I saw Clara in town, and she advised me to eat more meat. I thought you might want to eat a hearty stew.” On these words, she reluctantly turns back to stirring her stew.  _ A few more minutes, and it should be ready _ . “I had hoped your mother could join us,” she says matter-of-factly, with a hint of jealousy in her voice. “I saw you gave her the tour of the farm when I was hanging the nappies to dry.”

Arno’s smile turns somber. He had hoped for Maria to join them, as he was growing eager to learn more about her story, but to his disappointment, she declined the invitation. “She said she preferred to stay in the guesthouse tonight. She said she is feeling better, but I suppose all that walking tired her…”

Élise doesn’t reply, she simply nods and takes a deep breath. She forces a cheerful smile on her face, and fills their plates with the warm meat and vegetables concoction, while Arno helps Julie in her high chair. At least this meal will be spent together as a family, with no strangers at their table, a thought Élise finds comforting.

She looks at her plate; after careful consideration and remembering Clara’s advice, she adds another spoonful of stew. “I need to be healthy to have a baby,” she mumbles to herself with satisfaction.

* * *

He knows he broke her heart when he said he wanted to sleep in the barn again tonight. The pained look on her face was unmistakable.

Disturbing thoughts have been tormenting his mind the past couple of days, and he needed to be alone to process them. As he left the study with his notebook under his arm, he wasn’t sure if he saw a smile on her lips, or if it was his imagination playing tricks on him.

Up in the hayloft, he lights the oil lantern. In the half-light, he opens his notebook. 

A note flies out and falls on the floor of the hayloft.

_ To Arno, with all my love _ , says the folded note in Élise’s flourishing handwriting.

With trembling hands and a throbbing heart, he opens the note.

> _ When you are holding the children in your arms, making them laugh and smile their widest toothy smile, my heart skips a beat and I wish I could freeze time, engrave this image in my memory, and cherish it forever. For no one can ever replace the father that you are.  _
> 
> _ When I wake up in the middle of the night in the darkness of our room, afraid and restless, I reach out for you and my heart breathes a sigh of relief when my hands find your strong shoulders and follow the warm path of your skin. For no one can ever shield my body and my soul the way that you do.  _
> 
> _ When I see that look of love and lust in your eyes, my heart melts like snow under the sun and a delicious warmth spreads throughout my body. For no one can ever replace the lover that you are, the lover who knows every inch of me. _
> 
> _ When I see a tear rolling down your cheek and your shoulders slumping, I want to tell you how beautiful you are, and how beautiful this broken soul of yours is, concealed under your veneer of strength. For no one can ever open their heart the way that you do, and no one can ever have a heart bigger than yours. _
> 
> _ When I overwhelm you with my projects and my passions, and you eagerly listen to my every word, trying to find a way to push me further and fulfill my dreams, I want to break into tears of joy. For no one can ever stand behind me and believe in me, when I think everything is lost, the way that you do. _
> 
> _ When we are suddenly giggling like children to something only known to ourselves – at a party, in front of the children, in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep, or simply eating pancakes for breakfast by the fireplace, my heart swells. For no one can ever replace the friend that you are. _
> 
> _ Sometimes, I wonder: who are you to be playing such an important role in history, as well as in the story of my life, with such perfection? How is it possible that you are the father, the protector, the lover, and the friend I have been looking for? How is it possible that you are the one who brought me joy yesterday, the one who made my heart melt today, and the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my days, until the end of our times? _
> 
> _ Our journey together has only begun, despite all these years we’ve known each other.  _
> 
> _ Come back to me. _
> 
> _ Je t’aime. _
> 
> _ E. _


	30. Forgiveness (Part 1) (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to at least give you something to read, while I struggle to find time to work on the rest of the chapter.

**21 April 1797**

Arno reads the note again. And again. He brings the oil lantern closer, the paper glowing as its light shines through it. He takes a large gulp of wine and grimaces as he swallows the sour ruby liquid. He seizes the top of the note and slowly, meticulously, he begins tearing it, his eyes blinded by the light of the lantern as the delicate sheet of paper splits in two. It was a beautiful, heartfelt note, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Abruptly, he stops.  _ No, I can’t do that _ , he thinks to himself as he carefully folds the note and slips it between two pages of his notebook. Tearing the note will not help clear the confusion in his mind, tearing the note won’t lift the pressure off his chest, tearing the note will only further break Élise’s heart if she ever finds out. “Or unleash her wrath,” he mumbles with a scoffed breath. “Let’s not tempt the devil, shall we?”

He pulls his watch from his pocket, presses the button to open it, and stares as the leaded seconds drag away. It had been Élise’s idea to get it repaired after they settled at the farm. “Isn’t it time you stop living in the past?” she asked him one evening when she caught him staring at the broken watch with its arms frozen at that precise moment in time when his destiny changed dramatically. He didn’t warm up to the idea until several weeks later, not long before Élise was due to be give birth. The imminent arrival of his first child, of his future, had been the deciding factor. But at times like these, when he feels lost and longs for a connection to his past, he regrets his decision.

He closes the cover, wraps both hands around the watch, and closes his eyes, concentrating on the memories of his father as he’s last seen him; when he gave him the watch and explained when he’d be back, when he walked away, and when he was found dead.

“Father, why did you let Mother go?” he murmurs, squeezing the watch between his hands, as if trying to summon his father’s spirit. “Did you tell her to leave? Tell me, Father. What happened?”

A rustling noise outside the barn catches his attention. Ears peeled, he holds his breath and listens in. There is a scrabbling sound and then a click as someone lifts the latch from the outside. Then, the door opens with a screech of corroded metal hinges, and he distinguishes quiet footsteps sliding to the middle of the barn.

He sighs and groans slightly.  _ Élise _ .

“What are you doing here?” he calls from the hayloft, not appreciating her intrusion the slightest.

Élise looks up to see where the sound of his voice was coming from. She can’t see Arno, but the light from the lamp is casting his shadow on the sloped roof of the barn. “It’s nice to see you, too,” she says calmly. “So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” 

She steps closer to the hayloft, but she still can’t see him. Her eyes scan the barn, the hayloft, the wooden pillars. No sign of a ladder. The climbing ropes are hanging too far from the hayloft, and she concludes she has no way up. Her only hope is to convince him to come down. “Easier said than done,” she mutters under her breath.

“You’ve found me, I’m clearly not hiding well enough,” he sneers impatiently. He wanted her to leave, and the sooner the better. 

She sighs. “Arno, I don’t want to argue. Come home, please.”

“No, leave me alone.”

“Why? Is it something I’ve said, something I’ve done? What do I need to do to make you come home, if pouring my heart on paper isn’t enough? Come down. And come home.” Tears are welling in her eyes, and anger is rising in her voice.

“I’m not coming down. This means you’ll have to climb up,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Don’t play this game with me, Arno Victor Dorian,” she retorts, fuming. “Stop testing me, testing my will, testing if I’m desperate enough to climb up to the hayloft.”

He snickers. “No need to test you, your note oozed despair.”

She presses her lips together, and breathes in and out of her nose, trying to dial her anger down. “Why are you suddenly so cold-hearted? Why are you shutting me out? What have I done to you that turned you into such a bastard?” she says in an icy tone.

He remains silent for a moment to soften his own anger, and says: “Go back home, go back to the children.”

It’s Élise’s turn to snicker. “Are you going to play the ‘unfit mother’ card again for abandoning my children? They are asleep, and they are safe. I’m not going back home until you agree to come back with me.”

He shakes his head and lets out a loud groan. “You  _ are  _ stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly half as stubborn as you,” she teases with a smirk. Whatever she is doing seems to be working.  _ And it won’t be long before you will come down _ , she thinks to herself. 

She shivers and rubs her arms, wishing for her robe that she left behind on the bed. “I know what you’re doing,” she continues in a softer voice. “You’re isolating yourself, because that’s the only way you know how to cope. You’ve always been alone. You’ve dealt with the loss of your mother alone. You’ve dealt with the loss of your father alone. You’ve dealt with the loss of my father alone. And I know you were alone when you thought you lost me. My love, you’re not alone anymore. Me, the children. We love you. And I know it’s hard for you to believe it, but Maria loves you. If she didn’t, she would have never traveled that far to find you.”

The shadow moves. There is a sound of wood grinding on wood before Arno appears at the edge of the hayloft, and lowers a skinny ladder from the hayloft to the floor.

With a sigh of relief, Élise promptly climbs up to the hayloft.

“I’m relieved to have found you here. I wasn’t looking forward to climbing that dreadful mountain again, especially in the middle of the night,” she says as she gracefully hops from the top of the ladder to the floor. She looks around her and nods in appreciation. Hay has been stacked in a corner and covered with a blanket in an obvious makeshift bed, there is a large chest in another corner, and more hay arranged in a small seating area. And to her disappointment, at least half a dozen empty bottles of wine scattered across the floor. Standing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest is Arno, wearing his washed-out blue coat. “Cozy den you’ve made for yourself,” she says before sitting on the hay. She shivers and hugs her knees to her chest. From the corner of her eye, she sees her note on the floor of the hayloft, with a 2-inch tear at the top of it. Her heart sinks, but she fights to keep her composure. He must have had a reason for wanting to tear the note, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear it.  “I’ve been training here countless of times, yet I never noticed how you’ve transformed the hayloft,” she says to distract herself from the cold around her heart.

“I needed a place all for myself,” he says as he sits next to her. “Are you cold?”

She nods. “A little,” she says sheepishly. Who was she kidding? She was freezing.

He takes off his coat and drapes it over her shoulders, avoiding all eye contact. She smiles, relishing on the warmth enveloping her. And the smell. The musky smell of him, pleasant and male, winding into her lungs and warming her heart. She slips her arms through the sleeves and flips the hood up over her head, huddling some more in the oversized coat.

“Do I look like an Assassin, now?” she says with a chuckle, turning her head to catch a glimpse of Arno’s face. But he isn’t looking at her. He is mindlessly staring at their shadows projected on the sloped roof. “Arno, my love, talk to me,” she says softly. “We’re in this together. For better or for worse.”

“I’m so close. So close to remembering,” he says after a long and heavy silence. He is still avoiding her gaze, but his traits have softened. “I’ve had flashes, memories – fragments of sounds and images.”

She looks away and gestures at the empty bottles of wine. “And you think drowning yourself in wine will help you remember? Or are you hoping to numb yourself enough so the truth won’t hurt so much?” 

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “You know me too well…” 

Finally, he turns his head towards her. He can’t help but smile at the sight of her freckled face framed with her wild red locks escaping his Assassin hood.  _ It suits you _ , he thinks to himself. And if his mind wasn’t already so preoccupied, he’d think he’s falling in love with her all over again.

She blushes, his intense gaze making her heart rate climb a notch or two. “What have you remembered?” she asks with a nervous smile, trying to hide her trouble.

He returns his gaze to the shadows and frowns. “I remember chaos. Tables flipped over, chairs knocked down, drawers opened. I remember my mother crying. I remember hiding in the attic. I remember my mother putting me to sleep. I remember my father shouting, and my mother crying again.”

“That sounds all very frightening for the little boy that you were at the time.” 

“I’ve been trying to make sense of all these memories, these glimpses into the past, and I’m starting to think my father is the one who chased my mother away, rather than her leaving.”

“You’re speculating. These memories don’t mean anything, you said it yourself: they don’t make sense. We don’t know what happened. Not yet.”

“And we only have one side of the story. I wish my father was here to tell me his side of it.” He fishes his watch in his pocket and closes his hand around it. “Whatever happened, whatever the reason for their fallout was, the little boy in me wishes my parents would talk to each other, and forgive one anoth-.”

“I forgive you,” she blurts _. _

He turns to her, a perplexed look on her face. “This isn’t about us.”

“Is it? We don’t want to repeat our parents’ mistakes, don’t we? I forgive you. Now, come home. Come back to me. Just the two of us. And the children, of course.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “You’re jealous. Your note, it’s not despair that drove you to write it. It’s jealousy.” He shakes his head and lets out a sneering laughter. “My mother ruined my childhood, and now she’s ruining my marriage. Brilliant.” 

She blushes again, and this time it feels as though every inch of her turns to crimson.  “Things changed between us since she surfaced, you can’t deny it.”

“Because I have another woman in my life, besides you? Don’t worry, she’ll be dead soon,” he sneers with a mocking smile.

Her jaw drops in shock and she finds herself unable to speak at first. But then, words come rushing out: “That is incredibly harsh and heartless of you to say this, she is still your mother! Do you realize how I wish I were in your place, and get another chance to speak to my mother? Yes, I’m jealous. I’m jealous you are spending time with her, time that you would spend with me if she wasn’t here. I’m jealous of you for getting another chance with the mother you thought you had lost. I’m jealous and I’m angry, for I will never get the same chance with mine.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with a heavy sigh. She is right. There is a distance that crept between them, despite being intimate. His mind has been elsewhere, and he has purposely shut her out. It was time to put a stop to this destructive behavior before it further ruins their relationship.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so selfish.”

“And I shouldn’t be such a cold, heartless bastard.”

She takes his hand, and looks into his eyes. The golden light of the lantern accentuates the bronze of his skin, and the darkness of his eyes.  _ Why am I so attracted to you when you’re in pain? _ she asks herself as she places her other hand on his cheek, her thumb delicately brushing the line of his scar. As she slides her palm along the side of his face and buries her fingers in his hair, he leans in, and their lips meet. Softly at first, then pressing harder. She claims his mouth and he eagerly opens up to her, her tongue invading his mouth and challenging his to match her hunger. She releases his hand, reaching for his waist and pulling him against her. She wants to bring his body over hers and feel him push hard inside her, and if he doesn’t do anything about it within the next few minutes, she will. The passion of her embrace is overwhelming and breathtaking, and he is melting against her soft body.

“Come to bed. Make me a baby,” she says in a husky voice after breaking the kiss to allow them to catch their breath.

“What? You can’t be serious?” he says, bewildered.  _ A baby? _

“Wouldn’t it make you happy? Another baby? Another little boy, perhaps?” she asks in a half-defeated, half-hopeful tone. She had hoped for a more enthusiastic response. She could see it, right in front of her: in her arms, she is holding another little boy with his father’s big brown eyes, and Arno is smiling from ear to ear. In her mind, there isn’t an image more perfect than this one, and she's been obsessed with it the past few days.

He shakes his head and pulls away. “No, now is not the right time. And I doubt anything would make me happy at the moment...” he says with a sigh. He looks down, his shoulders slumping, as if the weight of the world suddenly came to rest on them. The responsibilities of the farm, of raising a family, of ensuring their safety. And the phantoms of the past coming back to haunt him. He feels tired, so tired. Or maybe it's the wine making him weak.

She smiles and puts a comforting arm around his shoulders, offering her strength to help him carry the weight. “From death, life emerges. Maybe the thought of another grandchild will also bring a bit of joy to your mother?”

He turns his head to meet her probing gaze, with her green eyes as sultry as they are strong-willed. “You are serious about this? Julie is barely two years old, the boys aren’t even walking yet. You’re busy with your school. And you’re caring for my mother on top of all that. Élise, this is not a good idea.”

“Anything to see you smile again. Even a faint smile is enough. I know you want a large family. And I want nothing more than seeing you happy. It’s worth all the sacrifices in the world.”

“I don’t know…” He is gradually losing the strength to argue over this absurd idea. He has to admit, she is right when she says that he wants a large family, and the thought of another baby growing in Élise’s belly does make him smile and fill him with happiness. A new addition to the family to look forward to, wondering if he or she will look like him, or like her. On the other hand, timing is everything, and they’ve already had the worst possible timing with their first children, including twins, being born a little over a year apart. Élise needs a break from the physical toll of pregnancy and nursing, he needs a break from the sleepless nights that turn his work on the farm into an impossible chore on some days. And as a couple, they need a break from devoting all their attention and energy to raising very young children in order to regroup and rekindle the flame. The  _ cons  _ absolutely outweigh the  _ pros _ , and yet...  _ That bewitching smile will get you every time. You are a weak man, Arno, _ he scolds himself.   

He turns toward her and she looks at him, smiling, then she kisses his cheek.

She gets up to her feet and holds her hand in front of her.

“Come, come to bed. Let’s make a baby.”

With a deep sigh, he accepts her invitation.

* * *

Back at the house, the children are asleep, and they don't seem to have noticed their mother's absence. 

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Arno whispers, pointing at the sleeping babies. The last thing they want is the twins’ precious sleep to be interrupted, often resulting in a very fussy pair of tired babies the following day.

“I’m sure the children are used to hearing us make love by now,” she chuckles as she takes his hand again and leads him towards the bed. “Besides, we kept making love even when I was with child. They had front row seats to all the action.”

He shudders loudly and she bursts out in laughter, her hand flying to cover her mouth to muffle the sound of her voice.

“Errrr… I'd rather not think about that, if you don't mind! That’s… gross!” he says, shaking his head.

“If you weren't aware there was a baby, or two babies for that matter, in my belly when you were fucking me, merely days before I was due to give birth, you need a reality check!” she says, amused by his reaction.

“I was fully aware, but this is… different. This is wrong! How does it even work, anyway? How do we make a baby?” he asks, shaking his head and shuddering again to chase the repulsive thoughts out of his mind.

She raises an eyebrow and gives him a coy smile. “Do I need to explain to you how babies are made? You have a seed, and it needs to be planted in my womb...”

“No, I mean…” He chuckles nervously and blushes. At once, he feels thrown back to 5 years ago, when they made love for the first time, ignorant and naive. “How is a baby actually made? Is there some sort of science behind it? We never had to think about it, it only ever… happened.”

She shrugs. “I have no idea. I asked Clara, but she wasn’t of any help. I meant to ask Elena, but I haven't had the chance yet.” 

“How long have you been plotting this?” he scoffs.

“Not very long, just a few days,” she retorts, slightly miffed. She lets his coat slip off her shoulder and pool at her feet. She wraps her arms around his neck, staring deeply into his chocolate eyes. “First things first, we need to share a bed. And if you want this, if you really want another baby, you have to stop running away from me. I will not leave you. I'm your wife, not your mother. Come back to me…” She has barely finished her words when she presses her lips on his, impatient for a kiss. As she invades his mouth, her hands slide to the sides of his neck, then up to frame his face, until her fingers dig deep in his thick hair, her nails scratching his scalp as he groaned deliciously against her. 

The room around him is spinning, but he isn't sure if it's because of the wine he drank, or the spell she cast on him with her kiss.

The light fabric of her chemise was merely a thin barrier between her skin and his hands, and the warmth of his palms was making her shiver, his touch only fueling her desire. 

Her keen hands travel back to his jaw, his neck, his chest, and finish their course inside his breeches and underneath his shirt. She breaks the kiss, leaving him panting. She pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, her chemise quickly joining his shirt on the pile. Moving closer, she lazily traces her finger from his neck down to his chest, relishing in the feeling of his muscles contracting beneath her touch. 

“You have so many scars. But the deepest ones aren’t on your skin, they are in your mind.”

Her hands fly down to his waist to unbutton his breeches, letting them fall to the floor. Then, her hands wind around to grab his firm ass and pull him close, his erection pressing against her belly.

With a low growl, he counters with a deep kiss and, wrapping his arms firmly around her body, he pushes her onto the bed. 

“Nuh-uh, tonight, you're mine,” she says playfully as she pushes him flat on his back and straddles him, pressing her wetness against his bare length.

“Yes, I’m yours,” he purrs in anticipation.

Pulling away, she smiles devilishly as she takes his hands that were resting on her hips and pins them above his head on the pillow. She leans over and reclaims his mouth again, plundering it with her tongue. Grinding her hips against his cock, she lets go of his hands and her lips travel lower, kissing his jaw and his neck before licking along the curve of his throat. He pants above her, his breaths rough and ragged as her tongue traces every muscle from his chest to his stomach.

And when her lips brush the tip of his cock, he thrusts his hips against her mouth, the warmth of her tongue sliding along his cock as she takes him in her mouth eliciting deep moans from his throat.

She teases his cock with her tongue, slowly, gently, quickly, then slowly again, gently dragging her fingernails up and down the shaft as she strokes it with her hand.

As much as she enjoys when he takes the lead and drives her to the point of surrender, at this right moment, she loves how he lies vulnerable and at her mercy while she continues to pleasure him. And to her satisfaction, it wasn’t long before he breathes out her name.

“É… Élise…”

The huskiness in his voice sends a rolling shiver of excitement down her spine. 

“We wouldn’t want to waste a good seed, now would we?” she teases as she raises her hips, guiding his cock deep inside her. As he fills her, she begins to move slowly, and he moves with her. She languidly runs her fingertips up his thighs before flattening her palms at his hips and letting her hands slide up his chest. She teases his nipples with her fingernails as she leans down and presses wet kisses to his lips, his chin, and his jaw. His hands settle on her hips and he traces the contours of her plump ass, teasing that sensitive section of skin between them just to see her tremble.

Her initial intention had been to take her time and draw out a maximum of pleasure, but once she notices he is matching every rhythm she sets thrust for thrust, she realizes that what he needs – what they both need – is hard and fast, and she has no trouble catering to his appetite. 

“Don’t hold back… Let go...” she pants in his ear, pleasure escalating. 

With Arno fully under her spell, she doesn’t need to ask twice. Holding her steady, he sits up, pulling her up with him. Then, he flips her on her back, with her legs tightly wrapped around his waist and his cock still hard and deep inside her. He takes her wrists and pins them down on each side her head, and begins thrusting in and out of her, fast and hard, his smoldering gaze never leaving hers. 

And then, there was nothing else. They tip over the edge, with nothing to grab to help them break their fall. As she cries out and his body tenses, his release seeping quickly from him, he lets go of her wrists and she wraps her hands around him, holding him tightly against her. Her arms are like claws, and her inner walls are clenched around him. He can’t pull out of her, even if he’d want to. It was as if she didn’t want to let go. And when he wraps his arms around her, and kisses her softly as they both catch their breaths, after pushing her away time after time the last few days, he realizes he doesn’t want to let go either. After a long moment, they roll to their sides and she snuggles against his body, breathing out a satisfied sigh as he reluctantly withdraws from her heat.

“Do you think we made a baby?” she asks with a enraptured smile.

He returns her smile. “I don’t know, we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I’m not feeling anything different. For Julie, I felt different. Immediately. It was a sign. Even though I didn’t know what it was at the time. For the twins, I was too drunk to feel or remember anything,” she adds with a snorting laughter.

“Élise, why do you want another baby? Where does this come from? You didn't  _ want _ our first three children, I find it hard to believe you suddenly  _ want _ to be pregnant.” There is concern in his eyes, and even a hint of regret in his tone.  _ What have we done? _

With her fingers, she gently brushes along the hair above his ear. Was it another silver hair that she was seeing?  _ I wish I could take your worries away. _ “I want to see you happy. You were always so happy when I was pregnant.” With a deep sigh, she rolls to her back and stares at the ceiling. “I might have not been the most enthusiastic woman when I heard I was pregnant – twice – but now that the children are here, I can't imagine my life without them. I'm a mother, my children are my purpose, I've spent two years nurturing them, day and night. Our babies are growing up so fast, too fast. Soon they'll be fully weaned, they'll be walking, they won't need their nappies changed. I won't have babies anymore. My children won't need me, and there's this emptiness in my heart when I think about it... And I suppose I am selfishly hoping you will pay attention to me again if I’m pregnant. I’m hearing myself talk and this does sounds like the stupidest idea ever, doesn’t it?” She turns her head to look into his eyes, and she gives him a sheepish smile.

This time, he doesn’t return her smile. “It does, I’m glad you’re realizing it without my help.”

She winces. _ Ouch. _ “What if we did make a baby, what are we going to do?”

“Love this baby like all our other children, what else do you want us to do?” His words came out harsher than he had intended, and he closes his eyes. The pounding in his head was telling him he had too much that horrible cheap wine. “We should sleep,” he says, rubbing the headache from his temples.

She nods, albeit unenthusiastically. “We should.”

She shifts to her other side, and he moves closer to her, with his arm draped over her hip and his hand resting on her belly. With his thumb, he is drawing abstract figures on her skin.

“I love you,” she murmurs. 

“I love you,” he says, moving his cheek against her hair.

“Élise?” he asks out of the blue.

“Hmmm?” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

“Your note… It was beautiful.”

“Uhhmmm” she mumbles again with a half-smile. Tears are filling her eyes, and she doesn't know how to stop them. She can't tell if they are tears of joy, sadness, or relief. Arno was sleeping with her, they made love. It has to be tears of joy. And relief. Yes, both joy and relief. She sniffles her tears away, and lets the soothing warmth of his body seep into hers.


	31. Forgiveness (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I haven't given up yet ;-) The summer months have been full of challenges for me, and I really had to put writing at the bottom of the list of priorities. And now that I can breathe a little easier... here it is. I admit this isn't my best work. I know it. I've been working on it over such a long period of time that it's not as emotion-filled and heart-warming (or heart-breaking...) as I would have liked it to be. I promise to do better next time!

**22 April, 1797**

Élise wakes up shivering. She rolls to the other side, in search of Arno’s warmth. As she finds it, she sighs and hums contentedly, and pulls the bed covers over her shoulder, tucking them under her chin and snuggling close to his body. Resting her forehead against his upper back, she places a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. His skin is salty and warm and moist with sweat. As she lies still and listens to his regular breathing, she lets herself drift back to sleep, until she hears the babbling of a baby. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and kisses Arno’s back one more time, letting out a deep sigh. From the way the morning sun rays hit the window, she deducts everyone overslept, including the children.  _ This morning will be a scramble _ , she groans internally.  _ When are they not a scramble, anyway? _

She quickly gets out of bed and throws her chemise over her head, followed by her robe. 

“Good morning, early bird!” she whispers as she tiptoes to the cot, where Charles is standing with his little hands gripping the rail. Next to him, François is still sound asleep, thumb in mouth and his little limbs tangled and rolled into his blanket. Élise chuckles at the sight of him.  _ Just like his father _ . 

“Mama, mama, mama,” Charles chants with a large grin as he sees her coming towards him. 

_ That smile _ , she thinks to herself as she reaches to pull him out of the cot and into her arms. That smile, unmistakably Arno’s smile, that smile that makes her heart melt every time she sees it. “Shhhh, you’re going to wake up your brother and your papa,” she says in a low voice, returning her son’s smile before she kisses his forehead, inhaling his scent.  _ Cinnamon. François smells of vanilla, but you smell of cinnamon. _ “Did you sleep well, my darling? Let’s get you a clean shirt.”

She sits him down on the changing table, and between kisses and giggles, she tries to change his nappy and take his shirt off to put a clean and fresh new one on. But that was underestimating her playful son’s unwillingness to stay still. “Oh, you want to play, huh?” she teases before launching a tickling attack on the baby’s tummy that sends her son in a wriggling and laughing frenzy loud enough to wake up the whole household. 

Élise’s trick works. Once Charles’ energy is spent, he calmly lets himself get washed and changed. 

“There you go. All clean,” she says as she scoops him back into her arms and kisses his chubby cheek. “We almost never spend time together alone. Are you hungry? How does this sound: milk and cuddles with Mama. Only you and me. Would you like that?”

It is true that she doesn’t devote her attention to the twins individually as much as she knows she should, trying to keep their routine as synchronized as possible for the sake of convenience. They bathe together, eat together, play together, nap together. For convenience, but also to strengthen the bond that unites them, as images of her premonition are still haunting her. This morning offers her the chance to spend time with her oldest baby boy before she gets caught up in the day’s routine. 

The baby nods, looking forward to his mother’s undivided attention. She bends down to pick his blanket from the cot before sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, her son seated on her lap. Then, she drapes the blanket over his back and begins feeding him.

“ _ C’est la poulette grise, qui a pondu dans l’église _ ,” she sings softly, stroking his cheek and taking his little hand in hers. She stares fondly into his long-lashed brown eyes, and he stares back at her with equal fondness. She smiles, and he smiles back, her mother heart melting a little more. “I know it was you kicking me early in the morning,” she says in a whisper. “You were the baby early bird, and your brother was the baby night owl kicking me through the late hours of the night. I could never get any rest between you two,” she says before placing a kiss on his forehead. “You love the right side, don't you? You're lucky your brother prefers the left, otherwise you'd have to fight for your favorite.”

From the other room, Julie calls, disrupting the peace. From the impatience in her voice, Élise can tell the little girl is in a terrible mood.  _ It’s going to be a long day _ , she thinks to herself, wincing.

“And that is your big sister waking up, and calling for Papa,” she says to Charles, who is starting to fall asleep in her arms as his tummy fills with milk. “Your papa should already be at work. Should we wake him up, what do you think?”

Élise stretches her free arm over the foot of the bed to seize one of Arno’s ankles. 

“Arno, wake up. Julie is awake and calling for you.”

Her words are met with a grumble and a rough roll over. He wasn’t sleeping, in fact he heard every sound she made and felt every touch of her lips on his body. There was a loud pounding in his head and a heaviness pressing on his chest, and he wished to remain as still as possible. Until father duties called. As late as possible.

“I have Charles at my breast, and François will wake up any second now. I have my hands full,” she adds before grabbing and shaking his ankle again.

With a groan, he pushes the covers aside and sits at the side of the bed. He steadies himself as a wave of nausea rises in his stomach. After taking a deep breath, with his eyes half-closed to keep away the brightness of the rising sun, he reaches for his clothes and dresses haphazardly before scuffing to Julie’s room.

When he comes back several long minutes later, he wears a half-smile on his face and carries a moody toddler in his arms. How is it that the instant that he sees his daughter’s little face, all the pain of the world is forgotten? Even when the said daughter’s face is twisted in a scowl.

“Good morning, my Baby Bunny! Come here, mama wants to give you a hug!” Élise says with a large grin. Her enthusiasm only partially erases Julie’s frown, but the little girl runs to cuddle up to her mother the second Arno puts her down. “Papa is grumpy this morning,” Élise continues in a louder voice and a mocking tone, casting a side look at Arno. “Must be the wine…”

Leaning over the basin, he splashes cold water on his face and sighs into a towel, breathing deeply. The nausea is coming and going in waves, yet it seems the waves are gradually losing their intensity. “We have our hands full with three children, I can’t see how having another child is a good idea right now,” he grumbles while adjusting his shirt into his breeches before setting the pot on the floor. “Julie, come. You need to go on the pot.”

The toddler shakes her head, still cuddling her mother. “No, Papa. No pipi.”

Arno closes his eyes.  _ And we’ll have to go through this with all three children? _ “Yes, you do,” he orders. “Julie, come. On the pot, now. I won’t tell you again.”

Her father’s loud voice startles her and she whimpers into her mother’s chest. 

“Go on, Julie. Papa is not angry, don’t worry,” Élise says softly, trying to soothe her daughter’s distress. “Can we please not argue in front of the children?” she says to Arno’s attention. “I get it, it’s a stupid idea.”

“And you’re right. Too much wine,” he admits. He forces a smile and with a gentler gesture of the hand, he invites Julie to come and sit on the pot. The little girl rubs the tears that had filled her eyes and leaves her mother’s arms to obey her father. And as he picks her up under her arms to hold her steady while she is busy, the last family member rouses from sleep. 

“Good morning, my baby night owl!” Élise coos, waving and blowing a kiss at François, who is struggling to get up on his feet, all tangled up that he is in his blanket. He whimpers and fusses in frustration. With Charles still drinking at her breast, she has to wait for Arno to be done with Julie before she can hold her second born son in her arms, and the wait is already almost unbearable – for both mother and son.

“Baby owl? Baby bunny, baby bird. Quite a ménagerie you have there!” Arno says mockingly with a chuckle, keeping an eye on his son in his cot.

“And you’re the grumpy, sarcastic papa bear,” Élise retorts.

“Quite right, I am. What are you, then?”

She ponders for an instant before answering with a smirk: “A fiery, cunning mama fox.”

He laughs. “Yes, you are one foxy mama indeed…” He turns his attention to Julie. “Sweet Pea, have you peed? Yes? Good girl.” After a quick clean, he puts her back on her feet on the floor. Finally free, the little girl runs across the room, laughing at the top of her lungs, without a trace of the grumpiness from earlier.  _ To have only one percent of her energy _ , Arno thinks to himself with a smile as he helps his son untangle himself from his blanket and brings him to Élise.

She welcomes her son with a flurry of kisses on his cheeks, before offering him breakfast.  _ Another baby… maybe? _ Arno thinks to himself as he gazes adoringly at his wife and sons.  He bends down and she tilts her head back to welcome his tender kiss on her lips. 

“Good morning, my love,” he says.

“You’re smiling. It suits you,” she says, longing for the kiss to last longer. But Arno is already at the other end of the room, getting ready for work.

“Some days I miss the Café-Théâtre,” he says as he is putting his shoes on.

“Why? Because the mornings were quiet, compared to our frantic mornings with the children?” she asks, amused.

“No, I miss the coffee!” he laughs. “I could use two full cups of really strong coffee this morning… I have to get to work. Will you manage on your own?” he asks with a sheepish smile.

She looks around her. Julie is still running around the room chasing invisible fairies and butterflies, Charles is has fallen asleep again, and François is avidly drinking. The children will need to be washed and dressed, and so will she. And she desperately needs breakfast, her stomach is growling and she is starting to feel light-headed. Yes, she can manage on her own. By a miracle, perhaps.

She forces a reassuring smile. “Everything is under control, don’t worry.”

“By the way, Julie wet her bed again,” he says as he pauses in the doorway on his way out.

She rolls her eyes. “You could have at least… Arno! Don't leave me like that!” she calls, as he disappears out of the room and down the stairs. 

She closes her eyes, her forced smile bending into a scowl as she becomes aware of the throbbing pain behind her temples. “Not enough sleep,” she mumbles to herself.  _ Yes, it’s going to be a long day. _

* * *

Hélène’s cookery book lies on the table and is Élise is absorbed in reading a bread recipe, but she can hardly concentrate. The words are dancing on the page. Even after eating breakfast, she still feels as light-headed as she did earlier this morning, and the pain in her head hasn’t eased. She checks her ingredients on the table and her gaze travels back to her book for the umpteenth time.

“Maria, do you have any idea how to make bread?” she asks with a frustrated sigh.

“Yes, of course I know how to make bread. You… You don’t?” the older woman replies, a puzzled look on her face. 

“It’s been easier to exchange eggs and milk for bread at the bakery, than making it myself. The baker in the village isn’t cutting his flour with chalk, unlike other bakers. All my previous attempts at baking bread have been disastrous. Hard as rocks.” She pushes the open book towards Maria, the book barely missing her cup of tea. “I’ve been reading these recipes here, and I can’t understand the difference between rising and proofing?” 

Maria looks at the book briefly. “It’s the same thing. Proofing is a fancy name for the final rise before baking,” she says with a chuckle.

“Oh, right,” Élise says, placing a hand on her forehead. “I suddenly feel extremely stupid.”

“I’d be delighted to help you. I love baking. Such a shame apples are not in season, I can make a mighty Apfelstrudel, if I say so myself. My father’s favorite.”

“You can teach me how to make one when September comes.”

“If I live long enough…” Maria says, her voice weary. There is so much to tell, so much to share, and so little time.  _ How does one live not knowing how much time is left before God calls them back? _ she wonders.  _ By seizing every day, every minute, and every second. You’ve wasted enough of your life, _ she scolds herself.

“You will,” Élise says, her tone more reassuring and confident than how she truly feels. 

Maria sighs and shrugs. “Only God knows when he will call me back to him. I can perhaps teach you how to make a Millirahmstrudel. It doesn’t need apples, only milk, cream, and eggs.”

“I would love that,” Élise says, looking forward to serving the dessert to her husband. He deserved to learn about the Austrian half of himself, as it appeared to be the only way to make him whole.  _ And nothing like some sweetness to mellow the bitterness of the whole situation. _

“First, let’s talk bread,” Maria says, at once invigorated by the thought of making herself useful and participating in the family life.  _ Seize the day. _ “For a basic bread, since you don't have any starter, you need 100 parts of flour, 2 parts salt, 1 part fresh yeast, and 70 parts water. Do you have a scale?”

Élise follows Maria’s instructions and measures the ingredients carefully. As she sets the yeast aside, the loud cries of children catch her attention.

“Excuse me,” she says to Maria before rushing to the corner of the kitchen where the children had been quietly playing until the skirmish broke out. “Fra–”  _ No, wrong twin! _ “Charles, Julie. What is going on, here?” She grabs both crying children by the shoulder and physically separates them. From a rapid analysis of the situation, the two of them had been fighting over a toy, but it was impossible to tell who started the fight. “No fighting. Be kind to each other, and share. Am I clear?”

Before Élise can stop her, Julie darts forward and pushes her brother, who loses his balance and falls onto his back, crying even louder. 

“Julie, you do not hit your brother, do you hear me?” she scolds, her voice – and her impatience – rising quickly. But the little girl doesn’t listen and attempts at pushing her mother out of the way, her little fist hitting Élise on the knee. 

In a split-second, Élise sees red and snaps. “Enough. You’re going to sit in the study until you calm down.” She takes Julie by the arm and practically drags the wailing and kicking toddler to the study. Meanwhile, Maria attends to Charles, rocking and swaying him in her arms trying to soothe him.

“Sit down!” Élise hisses as she roughly sits Julie on the chair of the study. She stares at her daughter, pointing an index finger in anger. “You’re being punished, Mademoiselle. I’ll come back when you’ll be calm.”

She immediately leaves the study and slams the door behind her. As adrenaline pumps in her blood, she takes hold of the doorframe to steady herself, the light-headedness returning in full force, along in the throbbing headache. She closes her eyes, trying to shut out Julie’s howling and Charles’ weeping. Tears come dangerously close but she fights to repress them.

“I could barely handle Arno with a horde of nannies and maids to help me,” Maria says to Élise several minutes later when the young mother returns to the table to continue making bread. Working the dough is a welcomed distraction.

“I was too harsh, she must be hating me now,” Élise says as she plunges with both hands in the mixing bowl. Her voice is hoarse, guilt and shame clawing at her throat. Guilt for lashing out at her daughter, and shame for having done so in front of Maria. There was no excuse for her behavior towards the children, she should have known better than to lose her temper.

“She doesn’t, she’ll even thank you later. A little discipline has never hurt anyone,” Maria says as she sits at the table with Charles on her lap. The sniffling boy snuggles into her chest, and she wraps her arms around him to hold him close. She could almost convince herself it’s Arno that she is holding in her arms, the resemblance so striking. He even smells the same, she notices. A mix of cinnamon and cloves, spicy and warm. And as she continues to soothe the baby, her mind is transported back to Versailles, close to thirty years ago. 

Lost in her own thoughts, Élise works the dough, mixing and kneading with renewed energy, the repetitive movements calming her. Suddenly, she is interrupted by the sound of papers flying and the thumping of objects falling on the floor. 

“Goodness, what is she doing in there? I have to go look, what if she hurts herself–”

Maria place a hand on Élise’s arm to stop her. “It’s only a tantrum,” she says reassuringly. 

“She’ll hurt herself, and it’ll be my fault if I don’t intervene,” Élise retorts, pulling her arm from Maria’s hold.

Maria shakes her head. “Trust me. She won’t hurt herself.” 

“Was Arno throwing tantrums such as these?”

“Oh, yes, God help me,” Maria says with a laugh, briefly looking down at Charles in her arms. “Arno was a docile baby, until something changed in him. I couldn’t understand it at the time. It started with night terrors…”

“The same thing happened with Julie,” Élise says, a thoughtful look on her face. “And her father is the only one who can soothe her. Was Charles the only one who could soothe Arno?”

Maria nods, taking aback a little by Élise’s question. “Yes, he was. Which made things complicated and extremely difficult for me when he was away on…” She swallows hard, as if her words were strangled in her throat. “On business.”

“Do you know why Arno was having these episodes?” Élise presses. 

“Charles explained them to me, yes,” Maria says bitterly. “And I found his explanation rather unsettling.”

“Right,” Élise says, nodding. From Maria’s reaction, she suspects her question hit a nerve. Yet, she regrets letting her curiosity get the best of her. She promised herself she would not inquire about Maria’s reasons for leaving without Arno being with her to hear his mother’s story, and her question breached this promise. “I can hear Julie sobbing, I should go talk to her,” she says hurriedly while clapping the flour off her hands, before cleaning her hands with her apron.

Maria sighs in relief. One more question and she was telling all, and it wasn’t fair to Arno “You go right ahead, I’ll wait for you here with Charles,” Maria says with a smile. It feels strange to her to pronounce her beloved’s name after all these years, even more so when referring to her grandson. 

When Élise opens the door of the study, she can hardly believe her eyes.

“You made quite a mess in here, Mademoiselle,” she says in a firm, yet not quite convincing tone. The papers and notebooks that were on the desk are scattered all over the floor, a bottle of ink spilled over them, and heavy books have fallen from the shelves. 

Huddled under the desk and thumb in mouth to soothe herself, Julie is sobbing between hiccups. Her cheeks are as red as her eyes, and covered in tears. 

Élise’s heart sinks upon seeing her daughter so miserable.  _ By my fault _ , she thinks to herself, fighting again the tears that threaten to fill her eyes again. She gets down to her hands and knees and carefully crawls to the desk, trying to avoid the papers blotched with ink. 

“I’m sorry, Julie Bunny. Please forgive me. Mama is not angry,” she says softly as she sits a foot or two away from her daughter, holding her arms in front of her. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Julie looks up to meet her mother’s gaze. Then, sniffling and sobbing, she closes the gap between herself and her mother.

Élise coils her arms around her eldest child and pulls her close, placing soft kisses on the top of her head and stroking her back. 

“I’m sorry, Julie Bunny. Please forgive me. Mama is not angry,” she repeats as she gently smooths Julie’s hair and brushes wayward strands of hair out of her face. 

With her thumb still firmly in her mouth, Julie nods and rubs the tears off her eyes.

Élise takes Julie’s hand in hers, pulls her daughter’s thumb out of her mouth, and brings it to her lips. Julie offers no resistance and she smiles when her mother kisses her thumb.

“You must be kind to your brothers, and to Mama,” Élise explains. “You must be kind to everyone. Well, no. Not everyone. Not everyone deserves kindness. But that’s for another life lesson.” She invites Julie to sit on her lap, and continues. “You have to be kind to your brothers. Do you understand? Do you understand why I punished you? You pushed your brother, and you also hit me. That behavior is unacceptable.”

“Sowwy,” Julie says with a sniffle.

Élise smiles and hugs her daughter. “Apology accepted. Now you need to apologize to Charles.”

The little girl nods. Élise isn’t entirely convinced Julie learned her lesson. After all, wasn’t her earlier outburst very much alike to Élise’s outbursts as a child? And to Arno’s, if she was to believe Maria.  _ Raising children is difficult _ , Élise thinks to herself.  _ Oh Mother, how did you do it? Ah yes, by leaving me with nannies and maids and tutors. Almost too easy. _

Hand in hand, mother and daughter leave the study. 

“Go on, give your brother a hug, and apologize to him. Say you’re sorry,” Élise insists, giving Julie a small pat on the back to encourage her.

Charles is sitting on the floor next to Maria, absorbed in building a tower made of wooden blocks. Upon seeing his sister, he takes a block and turns away from her. 

“Sowwy,” Julie says, crouching and wrapping her little arms around her brother’s neck. She doesn’t attempt at taking the block from him. Instead, she takes one of the blocks and hands it to him.

Charles turns back to face his sister, and accepts the block with a smile and a coo. 

Élise smiles. “Well done, Julie. Now, would you please play together in peace and harmony? Mama has a headache…” she says while rubbing her temples. 

“I can make you some tea, and if you want to go lie down for a little while, I can watch the children,” Maria says to Élise with concern.

Élise waves her hand in the air in dismissal. “Thank you, I have too much to do, unfortunately.” She straightens up in alert and looks around her. “Where’s François?”

Maria gasps in surprise. “François? Is he not…” She looks towards the sitting room, the last place she had seen François quietly playing on his own. The sitting room was empty, no trace of François, except the toys he left behind.

“No, François isn’t in the sitting room,” Élise says dryly. “François? François? Where are you?” she calls, while looking frantically around the kitchen, the sitting room and even the study, behind and under furniture.

She breathes aloud sigh of relief when she finds her youngest hunched up in a corner of the scullery, covering one ear with a hand. 

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!” she says as she picks him up from the floor. “What are you doing in here, my boy? Mama was worried!”

François hides in her mother’s chest. He didn’t mean to worry her – he only wanted to be as far away as possible of the noise, and the scullery offered the perfect escape.

“God bless, you found him,” Maria says, signing herself with the cross.

“One second he was playing with his brother, and the next… You’re a little Assassin baby who loves to hide, aren’t you?” Élise says with a chuckle as she bounces François on her hip. “Now, where were we?” she says to Maria.

“Do you have milk, cream, and eggs for the Millirahmstrudel?”

“Eggs I have, but I don’t have milk or cream. I suppose I could go in town to buy some. I need fresh air. Would you–”

“Watch the children? Of course.”

“Be sure all doors are closed, especially to the garden or the front door. I don’t want to come back to find another baby has escaped.” Élise puts François on the floor next to his siblings and he joins them in their play. “The bread. I’m forgetting the bread!” she suddenly realises.

Maria chuckles. “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry. Go and breathe some fresh air, I’m sure you’ll feel better when you come back.”

Élise flashes a wide grin. “Maria, you’re an angel. Thank you.”

* * *

Arno and Élise tiptoe down the staircase. The children are asleep at last. From the twins being unexplainably fussy to Julie flatly refusing to go to sleep without her father staying at her side, tonight’s bedtime has been a struggle and the parents have won the battle – for now. 

Alone at the dinner table, Maria is observing her son and his wife. He is holding her hand and he kisses her briefly, yet tenderly, on the cheek as they enter the kitchen. Maria finds herself envious of their relationship, one she wished she could have had with Charles.  _ But one can never get close to someone who is lying _ , she thinks to herself with a wistful sigh. 

“There’s dessert, today,” Élise says with pride as she carries the dish to the table. 

“Oh, what did you make?” Arno says with an interested expression before taking his seat. The way to his heart was through his stomach – good food, good wine – he couldn’t deny it.

“Well, I didn’t make it, Maria made it,” Élise admits with a sheepish smile. “It’s a Mil… Erm… Strudel.”

“A Millirahmstrudel,” Maria corrects, laughing. “I used to make it when your father was allowing me in the kitchen. He didn’t like it when I was working in the house, he said he didn’t bring me all the way from Vienna to France to have me work like a maid. But he could never say no to a Millirahmstrudel.”

“I bet, this looks lovely,” Arno says with a smile. He doesn’t wait for Élise to have served Maria and herself, and immediately digs his fork in the creamy mixture and eats with appetite. “Hmm! It’s delicious!” he says, his mouth full.

Élise rolls her eyes and breaths out a laugh as she takes her seat, and Maria reprimands her son with a pat on the arm.

“Arno! Who taught you to talk with your mouth full?” she scolds him.

“Actually, there was no one to teach me,” he sasses, regretting at once his words when he sees the pained look on her face. “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean…” He looks down to his plate and resumes eating, albeit with less enthusiasm. “You’re looking well today, Mother,” he says tentatively to break the silence.

Maria smiles, his previous words already forgiven and forgotten. “Charmer! I have been free of pain, I slept well, and spending time in the kitchen with Élise and the children today has been wonderful.”

“It seems to have worn Élise out,” he says with concern in his voice. He turns to Élise. “I came in this afternoon to ask you if you'd like to train with me and Francis, but you were sound asleep, lying on the sitting room’s rug along with the children.”

Élise blushes in embarrassment. “I was a little tired and it was nap time for the children, I thought I'd join them!” she says quickly, before taking a bite of dessert. 

Élise did indeed feel a much better after running errands in town. She prepared the Millirahmstrudel with the help of Maria, and even worked a little bit in the garden with the children helping pulling out weeds. However, in the afternoon, the light-headedness and the headache caught up with her and she couldn’t help but join the children for a nap.

“On the floor?” he snorts. “It looked to me like you fell asleep while watching them play, and they decided to join you for a nap, not the other way around! You're not sick, are you?”

“No, Arno, I'm fine. The night has been short, as you know,” she dismisses dryly. “You know I found François in the scullery this morning? He’s a little escape artist, that one!” she continues in a more cheerful manner to change the subject of the conversation, knowing too well Arno the-eternal-worrier-about-her-health wasn’t going to let go until he gets to the bottom of the issue.

“With you as a mother,” he teases with a smirk.

“Look who’s talking!” she retorts, letting out an indignant huff. “And please disregard the mess in the study, I haven't had time to clean it. Julie had a mighty tantrum this morning.”

Arno frowns. “Did she?”

“Well, she’s at that age,” Élise shrugs. “I put her in the study for a time-out because she misbehaved, but then she started throwing things on the floor. At least she didn’t hurt herself.  It’s like she had the devil her, this child…”

Startled, Arno drops his fork on his plate with a clatter as he chokes on a mouthful of strudel. Blood drains from his face and the room spins around him. He can hardly breathe, and he grips the edge of the table to stop himself from fainting.

“Arno, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Élise says as she reaches to pat his back and hands him a glass of wine.

He guzzles the glass in a single gulp. “What did you say?” Arno asks after regaining control of his breathing – and himself.

“I said I put Julie in the study for a time-out.”

He shakes his head. “No, after that. What did you say?”

“I said… What did I say?” She tries to concentrate and recall what she just said, but her mind is fuzzy. She drums her fingers on the table in frustration. “Oh, right, I said it’s like she had the devil in her. My love, what’s going on?”

Blood drains from his face again upon hearing her words, with an eerie sense of déjà vu. “I heard that before, I know I heard that before…”

“Of course you heard that before, I just said it,” Élise says with a frown.

“Yes, you heard that before. Because I said it,” Maria says gravely. She, too, got startled when she heard Élise’s words, and she fought to keep her composure.

Arno’s mouth opens in disbelief, before twisting in a scowl. “You? Why would you say something like that? Mother, why did you leave? I need to know, now. I’m going insane trying to piece all the memories together. For the love of God, please tell me.”

Maria leans back in her chair, smoothing invisible creases on her apron. She crosses her arms over her chest, then uncrosses them and joins her hands on her lap. She is nervous. She waited decades for this moment, and the time has finally come. And here she is, unable to look at her son in the eyes. “Very well,” she says a moment later in a trembling voice, meeting Arno’s intense gaze and forcing a smile. “Can you tell me what you remember, then?”

“I remember chaos. The house turned upside down. Me hiding. You crying, Father shouting. You putting me down to sleep. And now, this. I can’t make sense of any of it. What does it mean? What happened?”

“It all started with…” Maria sighs, gathering her thoughts. “Your father was away on business, and to distract myself, I went shopping in Paris, and you came with me. When we came back–”

“The maid. She ran over to us, she was distraught, I remember that…” Arno interrupts.

Maria nods. “According to her, and to the gardener to whom I spoke later, two men cladded in black and wearing leather masks broke into the house in broad daylight. They threatened the staff. They were clearly looking for something, and once they realized what they were looking for wasn’t there, they left.”

“Who were these men?” Élise asks as she puts another open bottle of wine on the table and pours everyone a tall glass.  _ We’ll all need a bit of Dutch courage this evening, headache or not _ .

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Maria says, shaking her head. “When your father came back a few days later… I never saw your father so livid. He ordered for all locks to be changed, and he ordered me to never leave the house when he was away. I was too afraid to protest. I was afraid for your safety, and for mine. Your father fed me another lie, he said it was other dealers who lost a lead on a deal, and wanted to scare him away from it. Oh, how I missed my quiet convent life in Vienna! Far away from all that business nonsense! Instead, I was a prisoner in a house that wasn’t mine...”

“Why was I hiding?” Arno asks, anxious to unlock another memory.

“You’re probably referring to the second incident,” Maria says.

Arno raises an eyebrow. “Second incident?”

“We were confined inside the house, as I just explained. Your father wasn’t away on business this time, instead he said he had to go to Paris to meet with someone who could help him land a very lucrative deal. When he left, he looked preoccupied. Quite honestly, he looked like a hunted animal. Since money hadn’t been flowing as much as it had the years before, I didn’t try to stop him. But his behavior had me worried.”

Arno closes his eyes, concentrating hard, until he saw himself has a child. “I remember hiding in the attic, and noise, a lot of noise. Shouting. You were crying, I could hear you.”

“You were not hiding, at least not intentionally,” Maria explains. “You were playing hide-and-seek with your nanny. As usual, you climbed to the attic, and hid behind the boxes. She knew where you were, but she was too afraid to climb the tiny ladder. She also knew you would eventually climb back down, curious as you were as to why she wasn’t coming up to find you. This time though, you didn’t, and that’s probably what saved your life.”

“The noise, the shouting. Someone broke in again, am I right?”

“The same men as the month before, I can only assume. Looking for your father. I was so afraid, Arno, I was so afraid…” she says, her voice breaking, her arms folded across her chest, rubbing her skin as if she were cold.

“What did they want?” Arno presses, disregarding his mother’s trouble. 

Maria takes a sip of wine. She wasn’t in the habit of drinking, but the sour liquid warms her throat and her blood, and gives her enough fortitude to continue. “Your father knew the whereabouts of something that was theirs, they said. And they would pursue him relentlessly until he surrenders information about its location, or surrenders the thing that they were looking for... A box, I believe.”

“Templars looking for the artefact, of course,” Élise says, shaking her head.

“The damn box that ultimately killed him,” Arno says bitterly.

A wave of guilt and shame washes over Élise. What if it’s the Templars, her people, her  _ family _ , who ultimately caused Maria’s disappearance?  _ Will he ever forgive me? _ , she wonders. She tries to take his hand, but he moves it away.

“They never said who they were. It all happened so fast,” Maria says, before taking another sip of wine. “And then… Then they started looking for you. ‘He has a son,’ one of them said. ‘Let’s find him, we could use him as bait.’”

Arno holds his hand up to stop her. “Wait a second. They wanted to kidnap me?” he asks, bewildered.

“They never found you. Or I should say, they never had the time to really start looking for you because I chased them away. You never know your strength until you, as a mother, see your child being threatened,” Maria says beaming with pride. 

Arno returns her smile. “What did you do?” 

“I grabbed the candelabra from the mantle, and hit one of them right on the side of the head. And I shouted at the top of my lungs that they were not going to touch a single hair of my baby, or else they would have to answer to me. And that they better get right out of the house.”

“Really?” Arno says with an incredulous laugh. “And they left? You don’t exactly strike me as the scary kind.”

“They didn’t take me seriously, they started laughing. The one I hit probably had a headache the next morning,” Maria shrugs. “But they agreed to leave… With a promise to come back later.”

“Did they come back?” Arno asks.

“I don’t know. I left the next morning,” Maria says quickly. She then hides behind her glass of wine as she takes another sip. 

A deafening silence falls at the table. Élise swirls her glass absently, guilt still pressing at her throat. 

Arno opens and closes his mouth several times, wanting to ask the hard question.

“What happened when father came back?” he finally asks after letting out a deep sigh.

“I told him what happened, he was livid again. So was I. That was the last straw. I’ve had enough. I demanded to know the truth. And he told me… everything. That he was an Assassin. Just the name... ” She shudders. She looks down at her hands and fidgets with the hem of her apron. “He told me about the war with the Templars, about the importance of the Assassins’ work for the betterment of the French people, of the world. He told me that the day we met, he was pursuing someone. He told me he had to kill him. And that he did. Merely minutes before we met again the day after.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “The penny dropped. The meetings. The travelling. The secrets. I understand he was trying to protect me by not involving me into any of this, and in a way, I am thankful. Because never ever would I have left Vienna to follow a murderer…”

“He couldn’t have kept his cover forever, you would have found out eventually,” Élise says.  _ The truth always comes out, however we try to hide it _ .

“That still doesn’t explain why you left,” Arno says, unmoved by his mother’s recollection of events.

Maria lifts her head back up, and finds Arno glaring at her, waiting for an answer. Her courage is melting like snow in the sun. “I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t fathom that the man I married was a murderer. I panicked. I said I wanted to leave, that I wanted to go back to Vienna.”

“Without me?” Arno scoffs, anger raising from the pit of his stomach. “One minute you want to protect me, and the next you are leaving me, knowing too well the danger I was facing? They wanted to kidnap me. They were after Father, you  _ knew  _ that sooner or later they would kill him and leave an orphan – if they don’t kill me first.”

“Arno, you have to understand…” Maria pleads, her lower lip quivering. “It was safer for you to stay with him. With me, you were practically defenceless, while with your father... I’m not asking you to forgive me, as what I have done is unforgivable. Try to understand how I reacted the way that I did.”

He shakes his head. “I’m trying, Mother. But nothing make sense to me. Why did you say I had the devil in me?”

“The night terrors,” Élise says, slapping the table with the palm of her hand. “The night terrors that made you say this, wasn’t it?”  _ Of course it was!,  _ she thinks to herself. Hadn’t she reacted to Julie’s terrors and their explanation with anger, resentment, and even fear? And that even knowing she had nothing to fear from Assassins. She imagines herself in Maria’s place. Guilt is still strangling her throat like a vice, but the new sympathy she feels towards Maria is slowly loosening it. 

Arno looks at Élise, growing more and more bewildered. “How do you know that?”

“My love, hear her out. Give her a chance,” Élise says calmly.

Arno nods slowly, and turns to his mother.

Maria forces a smile as she braces herself for what she knows is coming.  _ Hear me out _ , she pleads silently. “Élise told me about little Julie. How you’re the only one who can soothe her. You were just the same, Arno. I could never calm you down, only your father could. And I didn’t understand why, I thought I was a bad mother. A mother who cannot soothe her child to sleep can’t possibly be a good mother. When your father told me who he really was, he also explained the origins of your night terrors. He told me you had the same heightened senses as he had, that you were gifted, that you could see, hear, feel better than the common human being, and that you were too young to understand these abilities and they were frightening you. That these abilities would make you an excellent Assassin when you are old enough to join him in the Brotherhood. Upon hearing this…” She sighs and closes her eyes briefly as if trying to find the right words. “I told you about the family curse, didn’t I?” she continues, tears welling in her eyes. “Try to put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Your father was speaking of gifts, and all I was hearing was curses. Not only did I marry a murderer, but I also married a monster, and I gave birth to monster, and a future murderer, too. And yes, that”s when I said you had the devil in you. A cursed child was God’s punishment for steering away from his Word and his Truth, this was God’s punishment for running away from my father and the convent. I was an accomplice, an accomplice of a murderer… The shame, the guilt… My world collapsed, and… I panicked.” Her voice shakes. “And I’m sorry, I’m sorry for abandoning you, I’m sorry for leaving you behind. I’m sorry for never being the mother you deserved. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” she repeats, bursting into loud sobs.

For a long moment, Arno doesn’t know what to say, what to feel. His mind, as his heart, is baffled, confused and perplexed.  _ That’s it? That’s… IT? _ he thinks to himself. Then, the sadness, the pain, the grief that were repressed for so long surface again, along with images that he had chased away from his mind. 

“I heard you say it, loud and clear,” he says, his voice breaking as a sob caught in his throat.

Maria stares into her son’s teary eyes. She breaks into sobs again, the anguished look on his face too much to bear. “You climbed out of bed, and you came to sit in the corridor, just outside the door,” she recalls, tears flowing freely on her cheeks. “When I stormed out, I found you there. You were covering your ears with your hands. My poor baby...”

Arno coughs to clear his throat, to no avail. “How… How old was I?” he asks hoarsely. 

“It was not long after your third birthday. You were too young to understand. I took you in my arms, and I brought you back to your room. I tucked you in your bed, and I sang you a lullaby, one last time. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. Der Vater hüt' die Schaf...”

“Die Mutter schüttelt 's Bäumelein. Da fällt herab ein Träumelein,” he continues with a faint smile through his tears. He gives a hearty sniff and dashes his tears away with his sleeve.  

“Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf,” Maria says softly, in the same voice he heard her sing twenty-five years ago.

“You were crying, I remember you were crying,” he says, shaking his head slowly from side to side as memories flood his mind.

Maria pats her eyes and cheeks with her handkerchief. “My mother heart was torn. Torn between staying and leaving. But I had made up my mind, I had to go back to Vienna.”

Élise shifts uneasily on her chair. She is an intruder in this intimate conversation between mother and son, and yet she is on alert, ready to strike and come to Arno’s defense, should he ever need it. Tears are filling her eyes and she is too tired to fight them. She pours herself another glass of wine after filling Arno’s and Maria’s, and leans back in her chair. 

Arno doesn’t seem to notice. “What happened next?” he asks his mother.

“The following morning, you climbed out of bed and you ran down the corridor, running after me as I was leaving. I couldn't turn around, I knew I wouldn't have the courage to leave if I were to see you again.”

Arno glares at Maria in shocked disbelief. “For years, I've been haunted by the same dream: I'd be chasing you down an endless corridor, trying to get a hold of your hand, and you'd keep disappearing. It wasn't a dream, I was there when you left…” 

“I had to leave, please understand,” Maria says in a thin, reedy voice.

“I was there. I was there, and you left, and you didn’t even say goodbye!” With a frustrated sweeping movement of the hand, he knocks his glass and the bottle of wine and sends them flying to the floor where they shatter in dozens of shards, their content spilling from the table to the kitchen. Élise and Maria jump in their seats from the abruptness of his outburst.

“Arno!” Élise calls after him as he storms out and slams the door behind him.

Maria grabs Élise’s hand to stop her. “No, let me try to talk to him,” she says.

Reluctantly, Élise nods. Maria smiles and squeezes Élise’s arm gently before letting go of it to go find her son.

Outside, Arno sinks down on the doorstep, puts his head in his hands and bursts into tears again. Tears of anger and pain and incomprehension, from the realization that his dream wasn’t a dream – but the raw memories of his mother turning her back on him, her own son, her flesh and blood.  

“Arno, Liebling,” Maria says softly as she lays a tentative hand on his shoulder. 

Without looking at her, he shrugs her hand off and moves further away, out of reach of her hand. 

She doesn’t lose her countenance and comes to sit next to him.

“Es tut mir Leid, so schrecklich Leid, mein Liebling. Ich musste es tun… Ich wünschte, ich könnte die Zeit zurück drehen.” [I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my darling. I had do… I wish I could turn back time.]

“I was there, I was there when you left...” he says in a higher-pitched voice, a little boy trapped in a man’s body.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, simply to understand,” she pleads.

He turns his head to face her, his dark eyes reddened and filled with contempt. “How am I supposed to understand?  _ How _ could you? How could you turn your back on your own son?”

“I’m sorry. Liebling, I’m sorry.” Maria’s eyes fill with tears and she breathes muted sobs. She crosses her arms over her stomach, the sudden, sharp pain in her womb echoing the pain in her heart. She gasps and breathes through the pain, her eyes tightly shut and her traits contorted in a deep frown.

At the second touch of her hand on his shoulder as she searches for an anchor before sinking, he doesn’t shrug her away. She caused him more pain than she could ever imagine, yet he can’t stand to see her suffering.  _ Don’t be a cold-hearted bastard, she’s still your mother _ , he scolds himself. He offers his hand and she takes it, squeezing it hard.

Moments later, her traits soften and her breathing comes easier as the pain subsides. She releases Arno’s hand before pulling her handkerchief from her pocket to dry her tears.

“Did Father try to stop you?” Arno asks as he dries his own tears with the back of his hand.

Maria nods with a faint smile. “He did. He didn’t appreciate me so resolutely wanting to leave,” she scoffs. “He threatened me with prison for abandoning the household. He said he’d send the gendarmes after me. I wasn’t having any of it. Then he launched into a charm offensive. He promised me protection, he promised me we’d be rich, and he promised me he would leave the Brotherhood. I didn’t believe a single word he said – he fed me so many lies before, how could I believe him now? The following day, at dawn, while I waited for the coach to pick me up and bring me back to Vienna, your father handed me a piece of paper. It was a contract of some sort. It said that he agreed to not press charges against me for abandonment, at the condition that I resign all my rights over you as your mother. It also said that he would arrange for the marriage to be annulled, and for my name to be erased from the registers. And the same way Maria Pichler had ceased to exist four years before, Marie Dorian ceased to exist on that day. She never married your father, and she never gave birth to you,” she says with a bitter huff. 

“That is rather cruel of him,” he says, shame flooding his cheeks. Pressing charges for abandonment? Hadn’t he fired the same threats at Élise when she ran away?  _ You’re no better than your father, Arno.  _ And erasing her from registers, denying her existence – for whose benefit?  _ Why, Father, why? _

“It wasn’t,” Maria says reassuringly. “It was for my own protection. I was in danger, I knew too much. Leaving without a trace was the safest option. On top of that, he was giving me my life back. Maria Pichler was reborn. I could live in peace and in denial for the rest of my life in Austria, and forget the last four years ever happened. As if I could ever forget.” She lets out a faint, wistful snort.

Arno nods, pondering on his mother’s words, before saying: “It seems to me you were not the only one living in denial after you left. Is this why you never came back when Father died?”

“I didn’t even know he was killed until I came back to Versailles to look for you. And him, of course. I didn’t exist, remember? No one knew where to find me,” she says with a shrug.

Arno leans back on his hands, shaking his head. “But I’m sure Élise’s father knew who you were. I’m certain he had ways of obtaining the information if he really wanted to, this doesn’t make any sense!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t provide you with answers. You’ll have to ask Élise...”

Inside the house, Élises tenses. The front door is open and the whole conversation came to her ears. Why didn’t her father look up Arno’s mother, or did he try in vain? “Don’t ask me, I have no idea,” she mutters as she picks up the last glass shards and wipes the last drop of wine from the floor. A pang of guilt grips her, for the questions she never asked and the answers she never received, and for refusing to hold a frank conversation with her father about Arno and his family. And a good measure of guilt-by-proxy, for she will never know about her father’s motivations to keep Arno as a ward, whether strategic or purely philanthropic. The former rather than the latter is her suspicion.  _ Dead men tell no tales. If they were, we’d have the answers we need and we wouldn’t be tearing each other apart _ , she thinks to herself with a deep sigh.

Sitting on the doorsteps, Arno still shakes his head in disbelief. The more he hears from Maria, the less he understands of her motivations to leave.  _ This can’t be… it?  _ “Hearing your story the last few days, I was beginning to think Father chased you away and forced you to leave. That you were a victim of some sort,” he says in a sullen tone. He lets out a gruff laugh. “No, all this time, you really left because you were a coward, and because of your own, stupid beliefs. You opted to save your soul for a God who probably doesn't even exist, while your own son would grow up without the loving arms of a mother around him and end up an orphan.” 

He turns to meet Maria’s gaze. The resentment she sees in his eyes breaks her heart. 

“I was afraid, Arno,” she says in a trembling voice. “Very afraid. And I wanted nothing to do with this war.”

“And you thought I’d be safer with Father? You knew they were after me, too!”

“I never said what I did was rational, I never said it was the best decision under the circumstances,” she cries. “I loved your father, and I still love him to this day. But we couldn’t be married to each other. This marriage had been a terrible mistake…”

“I’ve made my share of mistakes too, Mother. And I paid the price. What’s the price you’ve paid for yours?”

“Twenty-five years living in silence. Twenty-five years living with guilt. Twenty-five years living with a wound that would never heal.”

“And what about  _ my  _ wounds? This hole in my heart that I will never fill?”

The questions hit home. It was foolish of her to believe she had been the only one suffering. She lowers her gaze and closes her eyes as she searches for a reply, but Arno continues before she can find the words.

“I’ll walk you back to the guest house. You must be tired,” he says as he gets up on his feet.

“If… If that’s what you want,” Maria stammers, her eyes filling with tears once again.

“It’s dark. And there might be wolves, I think I saw one on the prowl the other day. The rest of the pack shouldn’t be far.”

He holds his hand out to help her get up and she accepts it. He then steps inside to take one of the lanterns, Maria following behind him and looking dejected.

“I heard you say there are wolves?” Élise asks Arno as matter-of-factly as she can. She doesn’t want to sound like she has been eavesdropping, even if it was virtually impossible not to hear their hefty word-exchange with the front door wide open. “We better secure the barn, we wouldn’t want losing our income. And the kittens! Julie would be devastated if anything happens to Mademoiselle Moustache and the kittens. Or Brioche.”

Arno nods. The kittens were the least of his worries, but Élise is right: they can’t afford to lose their income. “I will make sure the barn is secure. Shall we?” he says, turning to Maria.

They walk to the guesthouse in silence. Everything has been said, there is nothing else to say. Arno’s expression grows somber as his mind reels with the memories that had finally been pieced together, and the questions that remained unanswered. 

Maria, on the other hand, appears more peaceful as they approach the guesthouse. The colossal burden she had been carrying for so many years had finally lifted from her shoulders. She can only hope that revealing her secret hasn’t permanently damaged their tenuous relationship.

“Shall I leave the lantern with you?” he says as they reach the guesthouse’s front door.

“Won’t you need a light to see on your way back? I have candles.”   
“This monster can see very well in the dark, you know,” he retorts, his grim dark eyes staring into her soft blue ones. Before she can reply, he hands her the lantern and turns his heels. He has to go back home – to Élise, to the children, to his family, away from the root of his pain – to process and to digest it all.

“Arno, I’m sorry,” she calls from the doorway.

He pauses, sighs, and turns his head to stare into her eyes again. This time, his own gaze isn’t as grim. She is smiling a peaceful smile, and her eyes are apologetic.

“I know, Mother,” he says with a slight twitch at the left corner of his mouth, as though he was trying to smile, but couldn’t muster the courage to do so.

After securing the barn and ensuring the goats, Brioche, Mademoiselle Moustache and the kittens are safe for the night, Arno quickly steps inside the house.

Élise is sitting curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace, a warm blanket over her shoulders. She is staring at the flames and rubs her hands briskly over her upper arms. It’s only April and the nights are cold, but she can’t seem to warm up.

“I thought you’d be in bed,” he says.

“I wanted to be sure you were coming back,” she says, tearing her gaze from the flame, a worried look behind the love in her eyes.

He flashes a half-smile and comes sit next to her with a deep sigh. He avoids her gaze, preferring to stare at the dancing flames instead.

“How are you?” she probes. 

“I’m confused. And angry. And... I’m not sure knowing my mother left because she thought I was some kind of a monster is anything to help me feel better,” he says with a scoffed breath.

“It was more than that. She was afraid.”

“I don't want to talk about it right now,” he says sharply, closing the door Élise had prudently opened. 

She nods, visibly disappointed. “As you wish. Are you coming to bed? To sleep, I promise.”

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight…” he says, bringing his hands to his face to wipe away the fatigue and the confusion. His body is craving sleep and rest, but his mind is caught in a maelström that he can’t get out of.

She drapes the blanket over his back, slips her hand around his waist, and moves closer. “I'm not going to bed without you. I am not leaving you. Even if we have to sleep here, on the floor.”

He lowers his hands from his face to look at Élise. On her lips is a kind, loving smile. In her eyes, a warm gaze. There is no need to talk, not right now. There is only a need for comfort and safety: her arms around his body, the soft touch of her lips, the velvet of her voice in his ears.

As if she heard his thoughts, she puts her other hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. Then, she leans in to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Sometimes, forgiving without understanding is the only way to move forward,” she murmurs resting her cheek on his shoulder.

He nods, letting out another deep sigh. She was right, of course. Maybe there was nothing rational about Maria’s story, no logical explanation. Maybe there was only cold hard facts that needed to be accepted as they were.

He coils his arm around her shoulder, pulling her even closer, as she does the same with her arm around his waist. Their bodies molded to one another, her head now cradled against the curve of his neck, they sit in silence. Élise's thoughts wander to the children, to the day's events, and to Arno, of course. When she looks up, she finds him staring in front of him, his face emotionless, as in a trance.  

In Arno's mind, the dream that had haunted him for decades is vividly playing. He is the spectator of the events, as if they are taking place right in front of him. He can almost smell Maria's perfume as she is walking away from Arno the toddler, ignoring his cries. But this time, when she closes the door behind her, the little boy stops crying.  _ Goodbye, Mother. _ And as he does, Arno the adult feels a certain calmness fall over him, and the images immediately fade away, making place for the flickering flames in the fireplace. The nightmare was over. 

At the same time, Élise notices the tension releasing from Arno’s body. She slips her other hand around his middle to hug him tightly.

He lifts her chin with his hand, looks down into her eyes, and kisses her lips tenderly before returning the hug, his way of saying ‘thank you’.

Arno sighs deeply, a smile appearing on his face. “Did you really find François in the scullery?” he asks as they part, eager for a distraction. 

She chuckles. “You should have seen his contrite little face, he knew too well he wasn't allowed in there!” She looks up and places a hand on his bearded cheek, staring into his eyes, delighted to see the veil of pain had vanished. “The more the boys grow up, the more they look like the little boy I met so long ago. And Julie, I see so much of myself in her, but when she smiles, it's you that I see.”

“Élise, I…” he says hesitantly, taking her hand in his before saying: “I'm not sure I want another baby. It’s too soon.”

She winces and turns her gaze away. His words feel like a punch in the stomach, but she doesn’t want him to see it. “It was a stupid idea, forget I ever mentioned it,” she says quickly.

“I'm worried about you. It's not like you to fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon. You're exhausted, I can see it. I’ve never seen you so pale.”

She rolls her eyes and tears her hand from his grip before crossing her arms over her chest. “Arno, stop worrying. I'm fine. I haven't had one good night of sleep in ages, it's temporary. I'm not sick. Well, not really. Clara said something about my blood being too thin or too clear, I can’t remember. This could explain why I’m always so tired, and to get better I have to eat more meat. She also said I should wait before getting pregnant.”

“And stubborn as you are, you're not listening to her. What if we did make a baby last night?”

“Then we'll love this baby like all our other children, just like you said,” she says sheepishly, uncrossing her arms.

“A baby requires more than love. You need to be strong enough to go through the pregnancy, the birth, the feeding. And you need to be strong enough to care for our three other children as well.”

“If I need help, I’ll hire help,” she retorts, miffed. “Goodness, Arno. I said I'm fine.”

“Alright, alright. I'm sorry.” He takes her hand again and she offers no resistance. “You know how I am: always too afraid of losing you.”

“I'm not going anywhere and you know it.”

She smiles, then stifles a yawn. Closing her eyes, she snuggles back into his arms, making herself comfortable. She is ready to sleep right there, right now.

With a chuckle, he pulls the blanket to cover her and readjusts it over his back. Élise’s soft body curled up against him acts as a soporific – or it’s the intense fatigue accumulated that is taking its toll – and he fights to keep his eyes open. And just as he shifts his body to lie down behind Élise, the sound of a baby coughing and crying startles them both.

“This doesn’t sound good,” Arno says with a deep frown creasing his forehead.

Élise props herself up, listening in to the sounds coming from the bedroom. She now hears two babies crying, but only one seems to be coughing.  _ It won’t be long until Julie wakes up with this racket _ , she thinks to herself. “I suspect they are teething, but this coughing doesn’t sound like a fussy teething baby. I better go check on them,” she says hurriedly as she gets up to her feet.

_ Goodbye sleep _ , he groans internally. “I’m coming with you.”

* * *

**23 April, 1797**

The next morning, at dawn, Arno knocks on the guesthouse’s door. He is nervous about seeing and talking to Maria after last evening, but he cannot wait any longer. He must speak to her.

In his arms, he is carrying a drowsy Julie who is possessively clutching at her father’s shirt. She had been clinging to him since he went to see her the night before, and there was no getting rid of her without causing a flood of tears. Only the promise to letting her help him on the farm and playing with her later seemed to calm the toddler’s anxiety.

“Arno, what a pleasant surprise,” Maria says, her face lighting up at the sight of her son and her granddaughter. She hadn’t hoped to see him so soon, expecting him to keep silent and to himself for several days before opening up to her. “ _ Guten Morgen, kleine Julia! _ ” she says  as she gently ruffles Julie’s hair.

“Gu’en Mo’en” the little girl replies with a giggle.

”I hope I didn't wake you up,” Arno says with a sheepish smile.

Maria shakes her head, then chuckles. “Oh no. I've been up for a while, contemplating and praying. You know that Easter was almost a week ago? With all the travelling and the turmoil of the past days, I lost track of time. I pray for God’s forgiveness.” She pauses her ramblings, noticing Arno’s fidgeting. “I'm sure you're not here to discuss our personal morning rituals.”

“No, I'm not,” he says, shaking his head. “Can we come in?”

“Of course, Liebling. Of course.”

She holds the door open for Arno and Julie, and pulls out a chair for him. “You look like you haven't slept,” she says as she pulls out a chair for herself. 

“I haven't, no. The twins kept us up most of the night. François has a fever, we don’t know why. Charles is teething, and Julie wouldn’t let me leave her side. She was afraid I’d become an angel – her words. I don’t know where she got this from.” He looks down at his daughter on his lap and places a soft kiss on her forehead. He then takes a deep breath, and says hesitantly: “Mother, I’ve been thinking–”

“Arno, I wish I could change the past,” Maria interrupts.

He reaches and touches her hand to stop her. “We can't. We can’t go back to change the beginning of our story, but we can start now and change how our story ends.”

“I’m sorry, Liebling,” she says with a deep sigh.

“You said you never hoped for my forgiveness, only for my understanding. Mother, I don't think I'll ever understand why you left. But if we are to spend the rest of your life together as a family, with Élise and the children – your grandchildren – there's one thing I must do in order to stop the pain and sleep again at night…” He reaches across the small table and takes both her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes. “Mama, I forgive you,” he says resolutely.

Maria remains silent for a moment, tears of joy and relief filling her eyes, and an uncertain and bewildered smile hovering on her lips. Did he really say what she thought she heard him say? She can hardly believe her ears. “Arno, I… I don't know what to say.”

He squeezes her hands. “Then let me speak. Your absence, as painful as it was, made me who I am. For better, and for worse. Your absence, it's this intense, sickening feeling I get whenever I'm afraid to lose Élise, to be abandoned again, so intense that it hurts, it hurts to breathe… Your absence, it's this gaping hole in my heart that I've been trying to fill, instead of letting it heal. But your absence is also the promise I made to my children and to always be by their side and keep this family safe, for as long as I shall live. And your absence is the promise of love and devotion I made to Élise, and the promise that I will always follow her, wherever her path leads her. You made me who I am, Mama. I should thank you for that.”

“I…” Maria breathes out a laugh and blinks her tears away. She is stunned, unable to find the words to express the intense happiness that is filling her heart. When she left Austria to find her son more than a month ago, she never thought she’d find him, let alone be accepted in his home.  _ Only God could grant me forgiveness _ , she thought. 

“Mother, I probably have more blood on my hands than Father ever had,” he continues. “If you can accept me for who I am, then I will accept you the same. We don't have very long to get to know each other. But I want you to tell me everything. About Austria, about your family -- my family. Teach my children your language, for I will never be able to do it myself. I need to know who I am, where I come from. Will you help me?”

She gazed into her son’s eyes and smiles. “Aber natürlich!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only the beginning of Maria's story. 100% headcanon, as we don't have much information about her. There lies the challenge in writing this character... :)


	32. Spring Blooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! :-D
> 
> A little surprise just before the end of 2017. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**23 April 1797 (continued)**

Élise is holding a sniffling François on her hip, his feverish little body feeling warm against hers. With her free hand, she tries to pour oats from a jar into a pot with warm milk. She rubs sleep from her eyes and then stirs the cereals in the milk. Between Charles blubbering from teething pain and François whimpering from the fever that has taken over him, it had been a long night with very little sleep as she watched over the twins, her mother heart filled with worry. She has settled Charles comfortably on the sofa in a nest of blankets and pillows, where he catches up for the missed hours of sleep, but François preferred to stay in his mother’s arms. Not that Élise minds. It’s rather inconvenient to do her tasks with only one hand and a heavy 10 months – almost 11 months – old baby in her arms, but she is keen on keeping a close eye on her little boy.

She takes the pot away from the fire and puts it on the table. Before she can sit at the table to eat her breakfast, Arno comes through the garden door. Julie is following him, holding a precious cargo in her hitched up dress. She is fully concentrated on her task.

Élise gazes warmly at Arno, and he returns her gaze. Something has changed in his eyes and in his expression. Is it peace she is seeing? She sighs in relief. Whatever it is, she secretly wishes he holds on to it for the rest of his life. 

She steps towards her husband and daughter, and after planting a quick kiss on Arno’s cheek, she carefully kneels to take a look at what Julie is carrying. In her arms, François whimpers and writhes, uncomfortable in the new position. 

“What do you have there?” Élise says as she peeks into her daughter’s hitched skirt. She winces in disappointment. “One egg? That’s all?” She looks up at Arno, who gives her a scolding look. She turned her gaze back to Julie. The little girl is avoiding her mother’s gaze, her cheeks red in shame. She knew her mother would be angry. There were five fresh eggs that morning and she was so proud to be bringing them to her mother. But she tripped on her way to the house, and only one egg survived her fall. 

It was Élise’s turn to feel ashamed, at herself, for expressing disappointment to her daughter.  _ She’s barely two years old, and she’s only trying to help _ , she scolds herself. “Mama is not angry, Julie Bunny,” Élise says as she kisses Julie’s forehead and squeezes her shoulder. She then takes the precious egg in her hand. “I’ll cook your egg for you, and only for you. Would you like that?”

A smile appears on Julie’s lips and the little girl nods in enthusiasm. Her egg, only for her!

“How is François?” Arno asks as Élise gets back on her feet, taking precaution as to not drop the precious egg. 

“Snuggly, as you can see,” she says as she looks down at a drowsing François. “He covers his ear from time to time with his hand, maybe he’s in pain.”

Arno puts his hand on his son’s forehead and cringes. “He’s burning. Should I fetch the doctor?” he says as he gently strokes François’ cheek with the back of his fingers. His son’s cheeks are crimson red with fever.

Élise shakes her head. “I don’t trust doctors, you know that,” she says dryly to Arno. “Doctor Mama’s advice for a speedy recovery is milk and cuddles and naps with Mama in the big bed,” she adds, nuzzling her son’s dark hair.

“Should I fetch the doctor for you, then?”

Élise rolls her eyes. “No, please. I’m fine.” After putting the egg on the counter, she walks to the sitting room and puts François down on the sofa next to his brother. Instinctively, Charles wakes up and snuggles close to François, and François does the same. Élise pulls the blanket over them and brushes brown locks away from their foreheads. She then bends over to kiss them one at a time.

Meanwhile, Arno has settled Julie on her high chair, ready for breakfast. 

“Do you want breakfast?” Élise asks Arno as she comes back to the kitchen to cook Julie’s egg. “I can make you pancakes… Oh wait, I don’t have enough eggs for pancakes.”

Arno chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll just grab some bread.” He joins Élise at the counter to prepare his own breakfast. “I went to see my mother,” he says matter-of-factly.

“I figured you would,” Élise says with an amused smirk. She didn’t expect anything else to happen, even after he practically threw his mother out of the house the evening before. “And?” she adds in the same matter-of-fact manner.

He shrugs. “I did what I had to do. I forgave her.” 

He turns to Élise and smiles. There it is again, the peace in his eyes, with a hint of pride this time. Pride for making the first step towards a reconciliation, pride for choosing to forgive rather than choosing to dwell on the past. 

She returns his smile and nods. “That’s very courageous and very kind of you. You must be relieved.”

“The hole in my heart is as gaping as ever, but this hole made me who I am. I can’t change the past, but I can work on a better future.”

“I’m happy for you, and I mean it,” she says, putting a hand on his arm and rubbing it gently.

Sitting at the kitchen table and getting hungry, Julie is impatiently tapping the table with her hands.

“Sweet Pea, don’t do that, it’s not polite,” Arno reprimands.

“Egg!” Julie says, pouting.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Impatient, your egg is coming,” Élise says with a chuckle. She cracks the egg in a small pan and takes the pan to the hearth for cooking.

“Would you mind if she moves in to live with us?” Arno asks as he arranges his breakfast on his plate: bread, cheese, dried sausage. He is starving and he knows he will need a lot of energy to go through the working day with so little sleep. Especially since he promised Julie could stay with him and ‘help’ him.

Élise’s smile vanishes. “Well, I…” she stammers. She is delighted and relieved that Arno forgave his mother, but if she’s ready to welcome her in their home, to live with her around constantly… No, not really. Not yet.

“I’m worried about her health, I don’t like her being so far away in case she needs help, and for when...” He can’t finish his sentence. He stares at his plate, having lost his appetite.

“The guesthouse isn’t on the other side of town, she’s not exactly far. It couldn’t be clearer you don’t want to make another baby, bringing your mother in the house,” she snaps, roughly scrambling the egg in the pan. She forgot to add butter and the egg is sticking. She sighs, ashamed of herself once again. “I’m sorry, forgive me. If that’s what you want… I’ll have to clean Julie’s mess first. If you help me rearrange the furniture and bring the bed in, she could sleep here tonight.”

“Thank you,” Arno says with a deep breath of relief. He eats a slice of bread, appetite having returned in a fraction of a second.

“Here’s your egg, Bunny. Be careful, it’s hot,” Élise says as she puts the scrambled egg in a plate and brings it to her daughter. “Are you going to help Papa on the farm today?”

“Ja, Mama,” Julie nods.

Élise laughs. “Are you speaking German to me, Mademoiselle?”

“She’s like a sponge, my smart girl,” Arno says proudly as he joins his wife and daughter at the table. “And when we’re done, we’ll play together, just like I promised.”

Élise goes back to the kitchen and tries to scrub the burnt egg rests off the pan. “I don’t know how I’ll get through the day with a sick child and everything else I have to do. At least you’re taking Julie off my hands, that’s a big help.”

“Maybe Maria can help you, she can cook if you need,” Arno suggests between two hearty bites of his breakfast. 

“If I am to hire help, it certainly won’t be your mother. She’s ill. I’d prefer Marianne to come back.”

“She wants to get to know the children before it’s too late.”

Élise sighs, the impatience at her own impatience growing disproportionately.  _ What’s wrong with me these days? I’m snapping at everything and everyone, it’s infuriating. _ “Yes, of course, how insensitive of me to not think about this.”

“Élise, sit down and eat,” Arno orders. “You’re tired and your breakfast is getting cold.”

She smiles. It not like him to order her around like that, but she knows he’s right. She is ravenous and she desperately needs sustenance. “I suppose I should sit down, yes,” she admits sheepishly.

He nods in appreciation as she sits down at the table, and he returns to his breakfast. They eat in silence; Élise grimaces as she takes a heaping spoonful of cold cooked cereals; Arno is chewing avidly; Julie is eating her egg with her hands instead of her fork, but both parents are too distracted by their own feeding needs to reprimand her.  

“Did you hear everything last night?” Arno asks after swallowing the last bite of his breakfast.

Élise drops her spoon in the cereals and pushes the bowl away. She is still famished, but she can’t swallow one more spoonful of the cold cereals

“When you were talking outside the door? Yes, I did. And if you want to ask me if my father ever tried to contact your mother after he took you in, the simple answer is ‘I don’t know’.”

“What’s the complicated answer then?” Arno asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

“My father never mentioned why he took you in, I have no idea what his intentions were. He never spoke to me about your family…” Now was not the time to discuss her father’s intentions. There would never be a good time to do so anyway.  _ Dead men speak no tales. _ She sighs before continuing: “Except when he explained to me you were from a family of  Assassins and asked me to use our friendship and my influence on you in the hopes you’d join our… Templar ways.”

Arno raises an eyebrow in surprise. François de la Serre wanted him to join the Templars? Why? He shakes his head in disbelief. “He did?”

“And I refused,” she retorts, avoiding his gaze. 

“But… Why? He must have told you why he wanted me to join the Templars?”

“Arno, this is in the past!” she explodes. Her eyes are filling with tears of frustration. “Why do we have to talk about this  _ now _ , at breakfast, when we have other things to worry about in the present? I have a sick child, another one teething, and another one who seem impossible to control. Your mother is ill, and we have to prepare for the worst. Haven’t we re-opened enough wounds lately? Don’t you think we deserve a damn break?” She slams her hand on the table, startling both Arno and Julie.

It was now Arno’s turn to feel ashamed. She was right, they had suffered enough the past days, weeks, of even years. He said himself that it was better to concentrate on the future rather than dwell on the past, for everyone’s sake. “Yes, we do. I’m sorry,” he mumbles and stares at his empty plate.

“Mama, shhhh, shhhh, no cwy,” Julie says, reaching out to tap on her mother’s arm.

_ My child of peace. When you're not throwing a tantrum, that is _ , Élise thinks with a chuckle. She takes several deep breaths to calm herself. She then smiles at her daughter before turning to Arno: “No, I’m sorry,” she says in a softened tone. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it seems I’ve run out of patience entirely. The headaches don’t help...” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. The headaches have been her most faithful companions the past couple of weeks. She blames the lack of sleep and the strong emotions she experienced. If only there was a way to get rid of them... “My love, I understand you want to know who you are and where you come from, but I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Her voice is soft but weary.

_ For someone who asked me to find out about her mother’s murderers, that’s quite a change of heart _ , he thinks to himself. He shakes his head. “No, you’re right, we should let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Excuse me,” Élise says as she leaves the table to check on the fussy twins. François is struggling to breathe with a blocked-up nose and Charles is chewing on his fist. Both babies look utterly miserable and Élise is already at her wit's end as to how to relieve them from their ailments. They refused when she tried to breastfeed them this morning, and they also refused goat milk.  _ It’s going to be a long day _ ...

“Are you done, Julie? Come, it’s time to milk the goats. You can play with the kids and Mademoiselle Moustache’s kittens while I’m working.” Arno helps Julie out of her high chair and wipes her mouth and hands with a cloth.  _ It’ll do. _ “Do you want me to find Marianne?” he asks Élise as he scoops Julie into his arms.

“No, not now. I’ll give your mother a chance to spend time with the children.”

“And you’re certain you don’t want to see the doctor?”

“I’m certain.’ Élise turns her head towards the boys, softly stroking their cheeks. “If François gets worse, we can fetch him.”

“I meant for you.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Stop worrying!”

“I love you,” he says softly as he bends down to kiss her.

“Papa, mine!” Julie protests as she wraps her little arms around her father’s neck and wedges her head between her father’s and her mother’s.

Élise lets out an indignant scoff. “Excuse me, Mademoiselle? I cannot give your papa a kiss?”

“Papa mine,” Julie insists, tightening her hold on her father’s neck.

“Are you jealous, Sweet Pea?” Arno laughs. “Alright, we’re going to work together, just you and me. Is that alright?”

Élise purses her lips in a mocking pout. “As you wish. I shall spend the rest of the day cuddling my boys. You’ll miss out on that, but that’s your own fault!” she says with a shrug. She immediately turns her attention back to her sons, dramatically turning her back to Arno and Julie.

“Élise?”

“What?”

“Please sit down again and eat something – anything,” Arno says before blowing her a kiss and leaving for the barn, Julie still holding on tightly to him.

“Yes, sit down and eat. When I'll have time,” she mutters under her breath. She gazes back down at the twins. “Mama has to take care of you first, my darlings!”

* * *

In the study, Élise sorts through the papers and documents that are scattered on the floor. She tied François on her back with a sling, and the baby has long fallen asleep between sniffles and sneezes. Charles is exploring the study on all fours, but he is far from being his usual ever-happy and curious self. Élise buttoned a cloth to his shift and the baby chews on it from time to time.

When Élise looks up to place a document back on the desk, she finds Marcera observing her from the doorway.

“Goodness, Marcera. Don’t sneak out of me like that,” she exclaims, a hand on her chest.

“I knocked, but no one answered. I figured I’d just let myself in. My my, that little one doesn’t look well,” Marcera says as she notices François’ red cheeks and nose.

“A cold, or something. He has a fever, and nothing helps. I tried warm milk, mint tea, but he refuses to drink anything…” Élise sighs. “And this mess is all Julie’s doing, she didn’t appreciate being punished for pushing her brother.”

“You’re raising your children to be spoiled brats. You need to show them some discipline, so they become good citizens,” Marcera says as she picks up Charles from the floor. She then wipes the drool from his chin. 

“I am raising my children the way I want to raise them, thank you very much,” Élise says, miffed.  _ If you think you’re going to come into my house unannounced and tell me how to raise my children, _ she thinks to herself, biting her lip before she blurts out the words out loud.

“I suppose school will take care of the lack of discipline once they are older,” Marcera shrugs, bouncing Charles on her hip. “How are you doing? You look like a ghost. In the span of a week, you’ve lost all color on your cheeks.”

“It’s been difficult, with little to no sleep and too many heartaches. Arno’s mother brought chaos with her,” Élise says bitterly as she gets up on her feet, helping herself up by gripping the edge of the desk. It’s not easy to keep your balance with a 20-pound baby on your back. 

“I can only imagine what you’ve been through. Why haven’t you asked for help? You know my door is always open!”

“I know, and I appreciate you offering to help. But this was a storm Arno and I had to weather on our own. It’s… complicated.”

Marcera nods. “I see. Well, if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Élise says in a curt manner. She had no desire to talk about Arno’s past with Marcera – that was something Arno had to decide to do himself. 

“You know you made quite an impression on Francis the other day?” Marcera says to relieve the tension that had build up between the two women.

Élise frowns. “What do you mean? Oh! When he trained with me instead of Arno?” she says with a chuckle.

“He hasn’t stopped talking about it. He was impressed that a woman could possess such fighting skills. Fabian is still adamant about having him enrolled in the army. This Napoleon has been winning battle after battle, and in Fabian’s opinion these are just the beginning. Can you imagine? Our son in Napoleon’s army!”

“But what does Francis want?” Napoleon’s successes were reaching far and wide to all corners of France.  _ Including this isolated place, _ Élise groans internally.  _ Impossible to escape him.  _

“I’m not sure anymore. He was fixated on carpentry, but ever since he’s been training with Arno…”

Élise holds a hand up. “Wait, are you accusing Arno of changing your son’s mind?”

“It’s an interesting coincidence, isn’t it?”

“The nerve!” Élise scoffs. “I’m sorry Marcera, but this is ludicrous. Arno did was what Francis asked: teach him how to use a sword and defend himself. You should probably ask your dear husband why he changed his mind. I think the interesting coincidence is rather that he decided to send Francis to war when he started training with Arno.”

Élise’s harsh words hit home and Marcera flinches. 

_ Here I go again, what is wrong with me? _ Élise thinks to herself, shaking her head. “Marcera, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so… mean.” 

Marcera forces a smile. “I owe you an apology, too. I don’t know if I’ll ever accept that my youngest child will go to war, and it makes me incredibly irritable.”

“You don’t have to accept Fabian’s decision, you can express your opinion. Maybe you’ll succeed in making him change his mind about Francis’ future.”

“I’m not like you, I have learned to know my place,” Marcera says with a bitter laughter. “And before you think this is another personal attack – it isn’t. I admire your strength and how you stand up for yourself. I have my reasons for keeping a low profile and not stirring the pot. My son wants to go to war, as a mother I will have to accept it.”

Élise gives the older woman a warm, kind smile. “I suppose I should return your offer to talk. My door is always open, too.” 

“Thank you, my child. I will keep it in mind.” She hands Charles to Élise, the baby beginning to fuss. “Let me help you with this mess. You go rest with your little ones.”

“You’re making me an offer I can’t refuse. A long nap with Mama in the big bed, how does that sound mes p’tits choux?” She strokes Charles back to soothe him. “Thank you, I appreciate your help.”

Marcera stands still, listening to Élise’s footsteps going up the staircase and talking to the twins as she settles them next to her on the bed. She waits patiently the soft whimpers of the twins cease and she is certain Élise is asleep.

She doesn’t mean to be nosey. But ever since Frederick Weatherall spoke to her and Fabian about Élise’s Templar affiliations, she can’t help but wonder if it is really true. She has no intention to steal any documents – simply to read them, and perhaps get to know her neighbors a bit better.

“What do we have here,” she murmurs as a document catches her eye. “An act of property sale between Monsieur Arno Victor Dorian and… an anonymous buyer. Well, nothing to learn from this,” she says with a shrug. She disses the document on the pile and picks up another one from the floor.

“Now, this is interesting… A letter.”

She reads on.

* * *

Arno is playing with Julie in the garden, just as he promised. The little girl is clutching a twig between her hands, waving the twig like an imaginary sword clashing against the twig her father is holding in front of him. She is giggling and squealing, thoroughly enjoying the game they’re playing. 

_ She has Élise’s quick footwork, that’s for sure _ , Arno thinks to himself as he challenges his daughter by raising his twig a little higher.  _ But she has my eye-hand coordination _ , he adds proudly.

From her garden chair, Maria is watching her son and her granddaughter and finds their interactions quite entertaining. She laid a blanket on her lap to keep warm, and on the small table in front of her is a pot filled with hot tea.

With François on her hip and holding Charles’ hand to help him walk, Élise steps into the garden. Her head is still foggy from sleeping most of the afternoon. Her faithful companion, the headache, hasn’t left her, to her chagrin.

Maria greets Élise with a large grin. “Your neighbor, the lovely Marcera, told me you were asleep when I came by. How is François doing? Arno told me he was not well.”

“He seems a little less sluggish than this morning, but he’s still burning with a fever. I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Élise says as she looks down at François. She plants soft kisses on his forehead, wincing at the contact of his feverish skin. Then, she lets go of Charles’ hand, who crawls to join his grandmother. “Charles is still in pain from teething, but like for his brother, a long nap this afternoon has given him more energy.”

“Some fresh air will be beneficial to both of them, I’m certain,” Maria says reassuringly as she sits Charles on her lap.

“I hope so,” Élise says with a deep sigh. For the first time today, she has managed to feed her babies. Nevertheless, she is worried about François. She sits on a chair next to Maria, with François on her lap. The baby snuggles comfortably in his mother’s arms. “Are you teaching our daughter how to fight with a twig?” Élise calls to Arno.

“She’s too young for a sword,” Arno says with a shrug and a wide, satisfied grin.

“She’s too young, period,” Élise says, rolling her eyes. “Arno, she’s two!”

“And for her, this is playing, not fighting. She’s seen us play together, she only wants to do the same with us.” He turns his attention back to Julie. “Sweet Pea, don’t you have a present for Mama?”

“A present for me?” Élise chuckles, surprised.

“Come, let’s bring the flowers to Mama,” Arno says as he takes Julie’s hand. They drop the twigs on the grass, and Julie follows her father to the corner of the garden where they left the small bunch of spring flowers.

Arno hands the flowers to Julie, who takes them to her mother. 

“You picked flowers for me, Julie Bunny? Awww, thank you,” Élise says as she accepts the flowers Julie was handing to her. She strokes her daughter’s cheek. The little girl looks down to her feet, unsure of what is supposed to say or do.

“Didn’t you want to say something, too? Go on,” Arno gently presses.

“Sowwy,” Julie says hesitantly. 

“It’s all right, my little Bunny. I love you.” She opens her free arm and Julie comes close, burying her face in her mother’s lap. “This feels like all your doing,” Élise says with a smirk to Arno’s attention. “Was that  _ you  _ saying you’re sorry  _ through  _ her, or did you convince her to say she’s sorry for something she probably has no recollection of? She’s too young to reason.”

“I might have helped her a little,” Arno admits sheepishly. He turns to Maria. “Mother, I would like to talk to you about something.”

Maria tenses, sitting a little straighter in her chair. “Of course, Liebling. What is it?”

Arno gets down to one knee next to his mother. He looks at her in the eyes and says, hopeful: “I would like to welcome you in our home. If you want, you could move in this evening, we’ll have the study ready for you. If you want, of course.”

Maria shakes her head. “Oh no, thank you, but I’d rather not intrude–”

“You’re not intruding,” Arno insists. “I told you this morning we need to make the most of the time we have left, and I would prefer to have you close-by when things...”

“When things take a turn for the worse?” Maria says with a half-smile. She turns to Élise. “What does Élise think about this arrangement?”

“You’re welcome in our home, Maria. If you can stand children running all day and crying all night, that is,” Élise says with forced enthusiasm. She still wasn’t fond of the idea of Maria living with them under the same roof, but she couldn’t deny Arno his wish.

“I am touched by your kindness. And children running and crying sounds lovely! Let me at least help you with them.”

“So it’s agreed,” Arno says. He promptly gets up on his feet. “I’ll rearrange the furniture before dinner, and Élise can help you get settled.”

“Yes, of course,” Élise says with a deep sigh that she tries to hide.  _ At least you’ll have some help with the children for a few weeks, look on the bright side, _ she reasons herself.

“Thank you. Both of you. May God bless you,” Maria says as she signs herself with the cross.

“Shall we play again, Julie?” Arno asks, clapping his hands together. 

The little girl doesn’t need to be asked twice. “Jaaaaa,” she shouts cheerfully, bouncing behind his father.

* * *

**25 April 1797**

In the kitchen, Élise is bouncing and swaying François in her arms, trying to comfort him. He has difficulty breathing and is making wheezing sounds, interrupted by a barking cough. She is heating up water in a pan to prepare some tea.  _ What time is it? _ she wonders. Four o’clock in the morning, the clock in the sitting room confirms.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Arno says as he stumbles downstairs with his other son in his arms. Charles’ cries woke him up, but François’ cough had him immediately worried.

“Because there’s nothing you could have done that I haven’t tried already to make him feel better the last couple of days,” Élise retorts. She is fighting tears of frustration and despair. “I think you should go get the doctor. The sound of that breathing… I’ll stay with him.”

“Alright, I’ll get Charles back to bed, get dressed and fetch the doctor immediately…”

The parents exchange looks. Arno forces a reassuring smile, Élise closes her eyes and pulls François close to her heart.

* * *

Hours later, at dawn, the doctor examines François. The baby refuses to be touched and hides in his mother’s chest. His hoarse cries are abruptly cut off by a loud barking cough.

“Shhhhh mon p’tit chou, the doctor only wants to listen to your breathing, and check your ears and your throat,” Élise says softly.

“Doctor, what’s wrong with him?” Arno asks impatiently. The doctor has been examining François for several long minutes already, and he hasn’t said a word.

“While it may possibly sounds like croup…” the doctor begins, brushing imaginary dust from the front of his black robes and cleaning his monocle with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “I don’t think it is.”

“What is it then?” Arno presses.  _ I can see why Élise doesn’t trust them, _ he thinks to himself.

“A flu… of some sort,” the doctor says in a stolid tone. He had seen many sick children in his long practice as the town's only doctor, and this case wasn’t much different than any others. Nothing that necessitated getting out of bed before the sun rises.

“What can we do to help him? He can’t breathe!” Arno explodes, raging with impatience. The doctor’s unaffected tone and manners are getting under his skin. It’s his child he is talking about, his son, and the doctor doesn’t seem impressed, or even to be wanting to do any effort to treat him.

The doctor remains calm despite Arno’s agitation. “A tub with hot water and a lot of steam should do the trick to alleviate the difficulty breathing. Hopefully the fever will break soon.” He turns to Élise, who is rocking and swaying François, humming a lullaby to soothe him. “Madame, I would advise you keep the other children away from your son as much as possible until he has recovered. You don’t want the disease, whatever it is, to be passed on to them.”

“I can’t separate my twins!” Élise retorts indignantly. “I'm still feeding my sons, they both need me!”

“It’s only temporary. One sick child is enough, am I right? Have me fetched if the steam baths don’t help or the fever doesn’t break by tomorrow. Also, keep the door and the windows of this room closed. This is of utmost importance.”

“But–” Élise tries to protest, but Arno cuts her off.

“Thank you, doctor, I will show you to the door,” he says in a false calm and composed manner. Inside, Arno is seething. The doctor couldn’t leave fast enough.  _ What a waste of time and money that was! _

Moments later, after paying the doctor and sending him on his way back to town, Arno is back in the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, and then closes the windows, to Élise’s sorrow. “I’ll prepare the bath for us…” he says, preparing towels and putting them next to the tub.

Élise shakes her head. “No, I’ll go in bath with him. You take Charles out of the room and settle him with Julie in her cot until it’s time for them to get up. I’ll stay with François today.”

“What if you get ill?” He can’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“Let’s pray that I won’t, then.”

* * *

“Arno, what is going on?” Maria asks from the doorway of the study. She heard everything, from the twins’ first cries, to François nasty cough, to the doctor’s visit. But she didn’t dare come out of her new room, afraid of intruding in the little family matters. 

“Go back to bed, Mother. It’s François, he has trouble breathing. The doctor advised a warm bath with steam, so I’m heating up water.”

“If I can help you with anything...” she attempts. She doesn’t have much to offer them for support, anyway. She knows nothing of illness and medicines, only ever relying on God’s blessings for a cure.

Arno gives his mother a faint smile, appreciating her offering to help. “I don’t need help, but Élise will. I can keep Julie with me for a little bit, but someone will need to take care of Charles today. I can’t have him with me on the farm, it’s too dangerous. The doctor said we need to keep François in a separate room until he’s better, and Élise will stay with him.”

Her hand flies to her heart. “How awful, your poor son. And the twins being separated, this is too cruel for words. Of course I will take of Charles and Julie today, you can count on me. I will pray for François, may God bless him.”

Arno rolls his eyes, but nods in a silent “thank you”. He knows François will need more than prayers to recover.  _ Not that this doctor is any less useless than prayers. _

“Excuse me, I need to get this water upstairs,” he says as he passes in front of the study on his way to the masters’ bedroom, careful not to spill any of the precious hot water.

* * *

“The bath is ready,” Arno says as he pours the last bucket of hot water in the tub. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“Did you hear that, mon p’tit chou? We’re going to have a nice bath with a lot of steam, and you’ll feel much better, I promise!” Élise says as she sits François on the changing table to take off his shirt, before proceeding to take off her robe and her chemise. She then pulls François back into her arms, skin against skin. 

“I’ll go take care of Charles and Julie and get them ready. And I suppose I’ll make an early start on the farm, it’s almost time. Maria will help with Charles, I’ll keep Julie with me this morning. She can play with the kittens while I work in the barn,” Arno says as he helps Élise step into the bathtub.

“I’ll need to feed Charles soon,” Élise says wearily. The water is still very hot and she flinches a little.

“And François needs you now. We’ll take care of the rest, don’t worry.” 

Before leaving, he kisses Élise’s forehead, and then kisses his son’s. His heart is torn; he would love to stay by his sick son’s side, but Julie and Charles need him, too. Instead, Élise and him – and Maria – will need to work as a team.

Alone with François in the bedroom, Élise speaks softly. “How’s that, François? Are you comfortable?”

“Mama,” the little boy cries before he is taken over by a violent coughing fit. 

Élise’s heart sinks and tears fill her eyes, praying that the steam baths will help ease her baby’s breathing.

“Shhhhhhhh,” she murmurs. She strokes and pats his back gently. “Just breathe, my boy. Breathe. Slowly. Everything’s going to be alright.” She isn’t convinced who she is trying to reassure by saying these words: François, or herself.

* * *

In the big bed, François is cuddling his mother. He is still coughing and making wheezing sounds when breathing, but the earlier steam bath seems to have helped his condition. 

“He does sound better, doesn’t he?” Arno says in a low voice as he quietly approaches the bed. It was hours ago that he prepared the bath for Élise and their son, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it worked. He had to come by for a short visit.

“I think the worst has passed,” Élise says, looking down at her baby boy. “He still has a fever, though.”

Arno sits on the edge of the bed and reaches to caress his son’s head and back. Indeed, he was still burning with a fever, but the improvement in his breathing offers a glimmer of hope. “You'll stay with Mama upstairs today, she’ll take good care of you. Oma will be with your brother and your sister downstairs. And Papa will be back as soon as he can to see you.”

“How about some warm milk before we go back to sleep? And I’ll tell you a story, too. How does that sound?” 

François nods faintly, his eyelids getting heavier, his little body needing rest to fight off the illness.

“I’ll ask Maria to bring you something to eat and drink,” Arno says. He’s reaches out to caress Élise’s cheek, and she responds to his mark of affection with a smile.

“Yes please, I’m ravenous.”

* * *

“How’s my boy?” Arno inquires as he peeks his head through the doorway. 

Élise stretches and yawns. It’s the end of the afternoon, and both mother and son have just woken up from a long nap. She props herself up and rearranges the pillows behind her back for support. At her side, François is awake and calm. Violent coughing fits are coming over him regularly, but his breathing isn’t as labored as the night before.

She reaches to touch her son’s forehead. “His fever seems down and the bath has helped him breathe. He’s a fighter, our youngest one,” she says, looking fondly at her son.

“And how are you?” Arno says as he sits on the bed. His notebook is tucked under his arm.

“I’m not feeling ill, if that’s what you’re asking. How are Charles and Julie? I haven’t seen them today. I only heard their cries, especially Charles’... He’s still miserable from teething, isn’t he?” she says with a quiver in her voice. She misses her children dearly, especially Charles. There is something unnatural to her to be caring for only one twin – there is one missing. And Julie… She misses the little girl’s overflowing – and often contagious – energy. 

“They don’t look ill, if that’s what you’re asking. Maria is fine, and so am I.”

She lets her head fall back on the pillows tucked behind her. “I need fresh air, can you please open a window?”

Arno shakes his head. “The doctor said we need to keep them shut.”

“And I’m saying this room is muffy and warm, and I need to breathe. I’ve been cloistered in this room all day!” she whines. She appreciated the quiet day spent watching over François, seizing the opportunity to catch up on her missed hours of sleep whenever the baby was asleep. However, on top of missing her other children, she misses her freedom to roam as she pleases. 

He chuckles. “Let me stay with François until dinner, then. Go downstairs, go sit in the garden, breathe. Meanwhile, I’ll spend some time alone with my boy. What shall we do, François? Stories? Songs? Oh, I know! How about we practice our walking?”

“Give the poor boy a break, he’s barely recovering!” Élise laughs. She can’t refuse Arno’s offer. She pushes the covers away, springs out of bed, and throws a bedgown over her back.  _ Freedom awaits! And hugs and kisses from Charles and Julie! _

“Then he can simply sleep next to me while I write in my notebook,” he says as he takes Élise’s place in bed. Overjoyed to receive undivided attention from his father, François draws closer. Arno pulls him on his lap and the baby comes to rest his head against his father’s chest. 

Élise smiles. How time flew by! It wasn’t so long ago that their tiny François was taking merely a wee bit of space when sleeping on his father’s chest.  _ And before we know it, he’ll be as tall as his father _ , she thinks to herself.  _ Don’t grow up too fast, my boy. Please stay a baby for a little longer!  _ “It’s kind of ironic to be writing to  _ your  _ father with the son bearing  _ my  _ father’s name by your side,” she says.

“It’s all about unifying our families, my love,” Arno says with a large grin.

* * *

> _ My dear Papa, _
> 
> _ I know. I know why Mama left us – left me. Words can’t describe the pain I experienced all over again when Mama told me what happened when she left. It all came back to me, all at once. _
> 
> _ I saw you cry, Papa. You had tears in your eyes when she left, I remember now. I know you loved her. And I know she still loves you, she told me so. Did you hear her when she said she still loves you? I can feel your presence around me, sometimes. Or perhaps it’s my imagination.  _
> 
> _ It brings me comfort to know you will be reunited soon. And when you see Mama in Heaven, my dear Papa, please forgive her. Forgive her, as I’ve also forgiven her. It’s the only way I could move forward.  _
> 
> _ I have to cut this letter short, your grandson François is ill and I must watch over him. Don’t worry, he’ll pull through. The worst has passed. He’s a strong little fighter, our François. I wish you could meet him… But I digress. _
> 
> _ With all my love, _
> 
> _ Arno  _

* * *

**30 April 1797**

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Arno teases Élise as she briskly walks towards the coop. He was on his way to the barn to gather his tools. She’s carrying a basket looped over her arm, wearing the blue linen dress Arno loves on her. Her hair is barely tamed in a braid and her eyes are red and swollen. She is later than usual, and Arno assumes she must have slept a little longer, but the redness of her eyes is alerting him.

“I’m in no mood for this,” Élise grumbles, circling around Arno to continue to the coop.  

“Very well. Would you like to train this afternoon? Francis said–“

“No, I don’t want to train,” she interrupts, stopping in her tracks and turning to face him. “I don’t want to train, I don’t want to be teased, I want to be left alone. I need this morning’s fresh eggs, and that is all.” She turns her heels and before she can put one foot in front of the other, Arno grabs her arm to stop her.

“You’re not getting rid of me so easily. What’s going on?”

“I’m…” She presses her trembling lips together and closes her eyes, fighting the tears that had been flowing since she woke up that morning. “I’m not with child,” she finally blurts, swallowing a sob.

“Oh.” There is disappointment in his voice. He certainly wasn’t entirely on board with the idea of having another child, but deep down, he had been secretly hoping for good news. “I should have known. You only wear a dress for two reasons: when you’re pregnant…”

“And when I’m not. And when it’s winter and it’s too cold,” she adds with a sobbing laughter.

“Fine, that makes three reasons,” he chuckles. “You really wanted this, didn’t you? To have another child?”

She tears her gaze from his, looking down at her empty eggs basket, fidgeting with the cloth she laid inside. “I thought I was over this stupid idea… Obviously I am not. Otherwise I wouldn’t be crying since I found out.”

“It is the stupidest idea ever.”

“No need to remind me,” she groans, staring back at him in annoyance.

“Ah yes, the mood swings. And the impatience. I should have known, really,” he teases, but the angry look in Élise’s eyes tells him he better stop immediately with the teasing. At least for a few days. “If you really want another child…” He takes her hand and pulls her close, staring into her teary green eyes. “Maybe we can keep on trying, tempting fate once in a while, and see what happens? If Lady Luck is on our side, you’ll be with child next month. If she isn’t… maybe next year? This ain’t too bad, right?”

“You haven’t been the most amorous since your mother moved in, you’ve barely touched me, and you haven’t kissed me in days. I have no reasons to believe this will change until she’s gone.” She presses her lips together again, looking down in shame, and pulls away from him. “Forgive me, that was incredibly heartless of me to say,” she says in a low, apologetic voice.

“It was. We’ve had a sick child, and I can assure you my mother had nothing to do with this,” he says defensively.

“I better leave before I say anything else that will upset you,” she says, turning away. 

He grabs her hand again and pulls her back into his arms. “Come here,” he says, wrapping her arms around her. She tucks her head right under his chin and he hugs her tightly. “You’re right, we’re never alone for very long since she moved in. We’ll just have to make time for each other. There’s enough hidden corners on this farm, we’ll just have to be a little creative. There’s the hayloft, the shed you want transformed into a school, there’s the guesthouse too now that it’s empty, there’s the training barn...”

She pulls her head back to look into his eyes and gives him a cheeky smile. “You’ve been thinking about it, I see. Hold that thought until next week.”

He smiles back and he presses his lips on hers for a kiss that was long overdue.

Despite the warmth of his embrace, she shivers in his arms.

“Are you cold?” he asks while rubbing her arms with his hands, trying to warm her up.

“I’m freezing, I can’t seem to be able to keep warm these days. It’s spring, I shouldn’t feel like it’s the middle of winter.”

He steps back to look at her from head to toe. The dress is hanging on her body almost as loosely as the day he first saw her in it, the day they learned she was expecting her first child. “You’re losing too much weight, you’re almost as thin as three years ago,” he notes.

“Ah yes, three years ago, when I was tired and worn out from five years of hell,” she says wistfully, with an undertone of bitterness. It was a past life she sometimes wanted to forget, yet it was impossible to put it behind her. Not with ghosts from times past resurfacing from time to time. “Now I’m simply tired and worn out from sleepless nights and raising children. However, if I may speak honestly, I somehow prefer raising the children to fighting Germain,” she snorts.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the village and I’ll buy the biggest piece of liver I can find, just for you,”

She grimaces and shudders exaggeratedly. “I hate liver! And why liver?”

“Madeleine always said it’s the best to stay healthy and full of energy. And God knows you need your energy back.”

“Some old wives’ tale, surely. It’s unfortunate Madeleine isn’t here to cook it. I’m sure she’s the only one in this whole wide world who could make liver palatable.” 

“And every week I’ll buy you another piece of liver and you’ll eat it with appetite, until you feel better,” he insists, waving his index under her nose.

She grimaces and shudders again, shaking her head in disgust. “Fine, fine. Now, let me pick the eggs and go back home at once, I have a hungry family to feed. Your sons are real piglets, do you know that?” François is on his way to a full recovery from the flu, and Charles’ appetite has returned now that the troublesome molar has erupted. Élise is bracing herself for the same thing to happen to François very soon.  _ Double trouble.  _

“I'm glad the boys have a healthy appetite and haven't inherited of their mother's. And you're not going anywhere before I give you another kiss.”

She giggles in anticipation.  _ Making time for each other.  _ He takes her by the waist and settles his open mouth on hers. As he slips his tongue in her mouth, she drops her basket to the ground, coils her arms around his neck, and eagerly returns his kiss. 

* * *

He promised Élise he would convert the shed into the classroom of her dreams, but it wasn’t until today that he felt enough energy to attack the work. The structure of this shed is in a worse state than the shed-turned-into-guesthouse, and Arno wonders if he’ll succeed in salvaging anything from the shed at all, of if he’ll have to build the classroom from the ground up. “I’ll definitely need Francis’ help with this one”, he mutters as he rips another rotten wooden plank from the side wall, throwing it aside. 

“I thought I’d come watch you at work. Élise told me you’d be here,” Maria says, heaving. 

Arno turns towards the voice and finds Maria supporting herself on a makeshift walking cane made out of a thick branch she found on her way from the house to the shed. Her other hand is on her chest and she tries desperately to catch her breath.

“It’s good to see you, Mother,” he says with a large grin. He is indeed happy to see her. The house has felt very full – too full, even – at times since she’s been living under their roof, but they had managed to get into a new routine. Maria helps Élise with the children in the morning, and she spends her afternoons breathing the fresh air of the mountains by sitting in the garden, or simply resting in her room if the weather is too uncertain. 

“Quite a long walk up here, I thought I’d never make it, thank God for this branch I found,” she says with a chuckle that turns, almost instantly, into a cough. “What are you building?” she finally asks after clearing her throat.

Arno frowns in worry and his heart tightens. His mother’s health seems to have declined another notch the past few days. He tries to hide his fears behind a smile. “Élise asked me to turn this shed into a school,” he says, taking a few steps back to take a good look at the shed. There isn’t much left of it, besides the roof and a few scattered planks on the walls.

“A school?”

“It’s a long story.”

“May I keep you company?”

“Of course! I could use a break and someone to talk to.”

“What do you want to talk about?” she says before sitting on a pile of neatly stapled planks.

He joins her. “I still have a million questions for you, but one sprung to mind this morning.”

“Ask away!”

“Did you and Father try to…” He pauses and breathes a nervous laughter. “Did you and Father want more children?”

“Did we try to give you a brother or a sister, you mean?” she says, amused by her son’s embarrassment. “Yes, we did.”

“And the obvious conclusion is that you didn’t succeed.”

“Perspicacious as always. No, we didn’t succeed. Why are you asking this question?”

“Growing up alone with father, traveling the world with him, I’ve always felt incredibly lonely. I was but a boy in a world full of adults, with very little contact with children my age. Then I met Élise, and... Finally, I could be a little boy, with a friend and sister all at once,” he says as he recalls the first years living at the de la Serre’s estate with Élise as a playmate.

“I’m sorry we could never give you a sibling,” Maria says with a voice full of regret. “It wasn’t for lack of trying… Your father wanted more children, and so did I, despite how overwhelmed and miserable I felt after you were born. It was my role as a wife to give children to my husband. That’s what a marriage is about, it’s God’s wish. Or so I thought. You came to us so easily, that we assumed another one of God’s blessings would come with the same ease. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so.” She lets out a bitter snort. “And this issue only added more strain to our already very strained marriage.”

“Élise wants another child right now, but I’m not sure if I want another one so soon,”

“Ah ha. So  _ that  _ is the real reason behind your question,” she says, a teasing smirk on her lips.

He hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and mindlessly pulls strands of grass from the ground. “Part of me wants to be surrounded with children – many children – because I missed having siblings and I don’t ever want my children to feel the same way. But the rational, overthinking adult that I am understands this isn’t realistic with three children aged two and under.”

“What does your heart say?”

“A family with two sons and a daughter is what I’ve always dreamed about, Élise knows that. I’m content with what I have right now. On the other hand, my heart is big enough to welcome more children, that much I know.”

“My advice is: leave it in God’s hands.”

“Didn’t you feel that God was letting you down by not granting you with another child?”

She nods, pondering on his question. “A little, at first. But I found solace in accepting that God has a purpose for me. And that perhaps my purpose was to give birth to you – and only to you – because you were special and unique in His eyes. You saved France from another ruthless ruler, Mr. Weatherall told me. Isn’t that special and unique?”

“Was it also God’s plan to make me an orphan?”

“It may very well be part of His plan for you.”

“What kind of God allows children to feel pain and suffering?”

“God works in mysterious ways that we cannot understand.”

They stare at each other. Her blood flows in his veins, and yet they couldn’t be more different. 

“Mother, I don’t think we’ll ever agree on God,” he says, shaking his head and laughing in bewilderment. “Very well, I will let God decide if Élise and I should have another child. This should be interesting…” he adds mockingly.

“Another grandchild, I would love that,” she says with a hopeful smile. The smile quickly vanishes. “Even if I will never have the opportunity to hold this child in my arms.”

“Don’t speak like that,” he says, taking her hand and squeezing it. They exchange uneasy smiles and knowing looks, both fully aware the end will come before a new child is born. 

“Why didn’t you marry another man when you went back to Austria? You could have had more children,” he asks to shift the conversation’s mood.

“Didn’t I tell you what I did when I moved back to Austria? I don't think I did. Or maybe my memory is failing me now too,” she says with a frown.

“I thought you said you took care of Opa?”

She nods, the memories returning. “Yes, that came later. I first went back to the convent. It was the best way to avoid having to confront your grandfather. Before I left for France, at the convent, I was mostly working in the kitchen. When I came back, I asked if I could help with the children instead.”

“The children? Like an orphanage?”

“Yes, we welcomed children who had lost their families or whose families weren't able to care for them. It gave me a sense of purpose.”

“And a way to repent for your sins in the eye of God.”

“I suppose you can say so, yes.” She takes a deep breath before continuing: “No one would have accepted to marry me. I wasn’t pure anymore, you see. I would have had to explain, I would have had to tell what happened, that I had married a man and had a child...”

Arno can’t help rolling his eyes. “I doubt you were the first woman in Austria to have bedded a man before getting married,” he sneers. “Purity is in the heart.”

“My heart wasn’t pure either, from marrying a murderer to giving birth to a child I abandoned,”  she says, scoffing.

“Sometimes as humans we do things that are seen as evil from the outside, but our actions are based on good intentions.”

“Like you and your father working as Assassins? Killing people to save the world?”

“And like you choosing to leave your husband and son to save yourself. We’re more alike than you think, Mother.”

She nods and smiles. Yes, her blood is flowing in his veins, and perhaps, one day, they will bridge their differences. “You’re building a school, you said?” she says with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s your turn. Tell me this long story, I’m all ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Maria working with orphan children is a direct reference to the fan theory about Arno's mother being Madame Margot in Dead Kings. While I think it's an interesting theory... of course I disagree with it, otherwise I wouldn't have spent the past 2 years building her character the way I wanted. However, I do believe my version of Marie Dorian would have wanted to work with orphan children in order to find some peace with herself regarding abandoning Arno as a young child, so I decided to include it.


End file.
